


Time and Time Again

by ChampagneSly



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Historical, M/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 03:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 56,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampagneSly/pseuds/ChampagneSly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the here and now, wanting to feel a part of his new family, Sealand is infatuated with Sweden's history and begs for stories from the Nordics, all while trying to match-make his Papa and Finland because that's what sons do best.</p><p>A story about past and present, love and forgiveness, and family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sweden's eyes were dry and tired as he peered out into the darkness, driving slowly along roads black and glittering, radio turned down low as the heater worked overtime against the winter cold. He was at this moment no more than a man exhausted by a day of endless meetings and negotiations, ready to be back in the quiet familiarity of home. He rubbed at his face and chanced a quick look at the cell phone perched on the dash, wondering why neither Finland nor Sealand had responded to his “heads-up, I'm on my way home,” text from twenty minutes before.

He knew that Finland must be anxious to get back to his own house, to be relieved of the babysitting duties he had so unexpectedly and generously volunteered for when Sweden had mentioned his reluctance to leave Sealand alone for so long to attend the series of unmissable meetings in Stockholm. It wasn't that he didn't trust in Finland's kind nature, nor did he doubt Finland's genuine enjoyment of children and gentle affection for Sealand and his antics, but it was rare that Finland offered to spend much personal time with him these days.

Oh, they were on good enough terms, smiles at “family” events, diplomatic ties reinstated and reaffirmed, cordiality all around. But no closeness, no comfort, and certainly no sign of the togetherness he had once had and then lost and now wanted more than anything to regain again. But it would seem that hundreds of years of history was more than he could overcome and so Finland stayed at arms length, casual kindness cloaking a hidden heart.

Well, he supposed with a sigh, it was Sealand he was so willing to be with and not him. And his kid was pretty adorable, so who could blame the man for wanting to get to know his little principality better?

His thoughts bounced between affectionate exasperation for Sealand, agitated longing for Finland, and nervous worry as to why no one was answering his messages.

Was Finland annoyed with him for being late? Had something happened? Had Sealand pulled some prank on his unsuspecting and often tootrusting babysitter? Was Finland currently trapped in the closet in need of his rescue while Sealand wreaked merry havoc in the house?

Sweden let the thoughts play out at haphazardly, spilling across his mind and distracting him from the tedium of the last moments of his drive, blending in with the innocuous hum of the radio, until he found himself shaking his head in his driveway, staring at the comforting light pouring forth from the living room window. He killed the engine and sat in the warmth of his Volvo for a moment longer, letting his feelings settle with the silence of the night, wanting to betray none of his chaotic feelings, school his face into apologetic passivity, ready to plead Finland's forbearance for his lateness.

He stepped out of the car, the sound of his boots crunching in the snow breaking the quiet around his house, his breath steaming out in front of him as he approached the door, trying to peer through the sheer curtains for any sign of disappearance or destruction. Unable to make anything out, Sweden gave up and slid his key into the door, pushing it open softly and shedding his boots and coat in the hallway, before moving quietly towards the light of the living room, suspicious of the utter stillness of his home.

Expecting to be assaulted by one of Sealand's booby traps or some sort of preteen idea of of fun, Sweden stepped into the living room with trepidation, only to have his eyes go wide and his heart soften at the sight waiting for his surprised gaze.

There they were, his two favorite people (even if only one returned that sentiment), fast asleep and dreaming. Sealand was in his pajamas, sprawled on the floor with his head on a pillow, one hand still holding down the page of a book; while Finland rested on the couch, propped on the armrest, dress shirt unbuttoned to reveal the white t-shirt below, mouth hanging open as his chest rose and fell with his gentle breathing.

Sweden paused, leaning against the doorjamb, memorizing the peace and perfection of the scene, a wistful smile gracing his face as he stood unmoving in their shared silence, listening to the clock tick in time with the beating of his heart.

After a moment of indulgence and wishful thinking, he shuffled across the floor, bending down to Sealand, holding back a snort at the drool pooling gracelessly on one of his favorite throw pillows. Sweden knelt, slowly pulling Sealand's hand away from the book, startled to find that it was his historical atlas of Scandinavia, the page turned to a very early picture of how they all looked even before the times of the Kalmar Union. He traced his finger over the lines that marked this older version of himself, trying to place it in his mind, too bemused to think clearly.

Gently, but with effort, (because, really, Sealand was getting too big for this), Sweden gathered Sealand into his arms, trying not to jostle him as he swept them both towards Sealand's bedroom. He placed the boy in his bed without him waking, thankful for the amazing ability of teenagers to sleep like the dead, as unaware of the world around them as in their waking hours. He tucked him in with fondness, wondering what was going on in that head of his, why exactly he'd been curled at Finland's side, clinging to a book of ancient history.

He made his way back to the living room, to the only person who might have the answers to his musings, but found himself unwilling and uninterested in interrupting Finland's slumber, quashing the urge to repeat his earlier actions and take Finland in his arms and place him in his bed. Sweden leaned over the couch, taking advantage of this rare opportunity to stare with impunity, gazing with hooded eyes at Finland's slack and happy face.

Sweden sighed and permitted himself to brush the hair from Finland's forehead before he collected his sentimental thoughts and shoved them back where they belonged. He shook Finland's shoulder softly, berating his lack of mental preparation for the all too tempting sight of Finland blinking slowly awake, mussed and confused, as he smiled blearily into Sweden's face.

Finland's voice was thick and sleep-heavy, as endearing now as it ever was, as he rubbed at his eyes and murmured, “Sweden, hi. Wow, guess I fell asleep. Sorry.”

Awkwardly, Sweden patted his arm, helping him sit up as he mumbled, casting his eyes away from the pinkness of Finland's cheeks, “Don't be. Sorry I was late.”

Finland stretched his arms over his head and yawned, looking at the clock before he turned back to Sweden, knowing sympathy in eyes as he said, “Meeting run long?”

Sweden nodded and Finland smiled, “They always do!”

“Hope Sealand was no trouble,” Sweden said as Finland continued to roll his neck back and forth, doubtless trying to work out the kinks in his neck. Long ago he would have placed his hands on Finland's warm skin, trying to ignore how still and tense the man went at his touch, trying to show his rough and unvarnished affection.

Now, he put his hands behind his back, deliberately looking away.

“Not at all! We had a lot of fun!” Finland responded warmly, much to Sweden's pleasure.

Sweden crossed in front of the couch, grabbing the abandoned book from the floor and arching a wry eyebrow at Finland as he asked, “Looking at our baby pictures?”

Finland snorted in amusement and waved him off, “Very funny. Sealand asked me to tell him about what you were like when you were his age, asked all sorts of questions about how all us Nordics came to know one another, and whether or not I knew any cool stories involving you and fighting. So I got this off the shelf and started showing him our old maps. We must have fallen asleep right around the Viking era!”

Sweden was baffled, sitting down next to Finland with book in hand, wondering aloud, “Why would he want to know all that?”

Finland hummed thoughtfully for a moment before he answered, Sweden watching out of the corner of his eye as he tapped his finger against his lips, “Sealand doesn't have much history of his own and God knows that England's not exactly eager to share his, so I think he wants to feel a part of yours.”

Touched and taken aback, Sweden's eyes widened, pulse fluttering when Finland winked at him and said, “You are his Papa, after all!”

He smiled and patted Sweden's leg, gesturing at the book, “I think you should tell him. After all, you do have some pretty cool fighting stories that should impress a micro-nation with the interests of a twelve year old boy. I would know!”

Sweden nodded dumbly, unsure what bewildered him more: Sealand's curiosity about his past or Finland's tiny acknowledgment that they had shared any past, let alone one that could be considered “cool.”

Finland stood from the couch, groaning and yawning again. Sweden bit back on the urge to ask him to stay, wary of breaking this moment of unexpected friendship and sweetness. Instead he offered tea or coffee, willing to stay up as late as Finland wanted to remain in his house, even if his own eyes were starting to feel gritty with exhaustion.

Finland declined as he buttoned up his shirt, sleepy hands fumbling and Sweden had to turn away to keep himself from reaching out and helping. At the front door, Sweden murmured his thanks.

“It was no trouble,” Finland whispered as he slid on his shoes and took his keys out his pocket, “really, I'd be happy to do it again. Any time.”

Sweden let a small smile grace his stoic and staid face as he watched Finland hurry out towards his care, racing against the evening chill, warmed despite the frigid breeze blowing on his bare feet by the memory of Finland and Sealand at rest in his home like they belonged there and the affection in Finland's voice as they said their farewells.

As the headlights of Finland's car flashed in the night and rounded the bend to take him back to his own lands, Sweden shut the door and made his way towards his bed, still holding his atlas at his side.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Sweden sat reading the paper and drinking coffee, still turning over the events from the night before in his head, thinking about the book now resting on his bedside table. He was gazing absently out the window, spoon in hand idly stirring, when Sealand barreled into the kitchen, a tiny disruptive force of nature.

“Good morning, Papa!” He chirped as he slid into a chair, greedy fingers already reaching for his breakfast.”

“Morning. Did you have a good time with Finland last night?”

Sealand grinned enthusiastically, answering with a mouth full of half chewed food, “Mrpghm, yeah, it was great!”

Sweden rolled his eyes at his son's apparent lack of manners, pointing at his own mouth as a reminder before he asked, “Heard you asked him about my past. What did he say?”

Sealand dutifully and exaggeratedly finished chewing and swallowing before he said brightly, “He said he didn't really remember much of what happened like forever ago and that I should ask you! Then he got the atlas and showed me what you, and Uncle Denmark, and Uncle Norway and he used to look like.”

Sweden nodded, wincing as Sealand took a large gulp of milk and then wiped his face with his sleeve before continuing, “Mostly he told me all about what he was like when he was as young as I am. It was really cool!”

Hazy memories of forests and bogs, of a small boy with hair as pale as snow and bright eyes, flitted through Sweden's mind, diluted by distance and time. He ruffled Sealand's hair, murmuring absently, “That's good. I'm glad you had a nice time.”

Sealand grabbed his wrist, looking at him with wide pleading eyes, demanding, “You'll tell me more, won't you? I wanna know everything! Like how you and Uncle Denmark and Uncle Norway beat up that jerk England. Or about all the bloody battles! And definitely how you met Finland!”

Sweden paused for a moment, hesitant and unsure of how much he wanted to revisit a history that had seen wondrous highs and shattering lows, particularly reticent when it came to his long past with Finland. He looked down at Sealand's eager expression, hedging as he said, “That would be a very long story.”

Sealand's eyes clouded a little, his expression drooping as he replied with all the sulky petulance native to tweens, “You don't want me to know anything about you or the others. Just like England.”

Sweden couldn't bear to be the cause of such insecure worry, quickly clasping Sealand's shoulder, forcing him to meet his eyes as he said soothingly, “Not true. Just don't want you to get bored. How about we do a little at a time, okay?”

Sealand brightened immediately, all earlier traces of distress disappearing entirely, “Awesome! Can Finland come over again and help tell the stories?”

Startled, Sweden asked, “What for?”

“Duh! He's said he's known you for like forever, so I figure he's got to known all the juicy bits. Also, he's really cool.”

Wryly, Sweden thought to himself that Finland certainly did know both the juicy and the gristly bits of their shared history. Somehow, he doubted that Finland would willing go skipping merrily down memory lane just to amuse Sealand. But then he thought of the soft fondness on Finland's face and the way he had smiled and said “I'd be happy to do it again. Anytime.”

Stranger things had happened.

“We'll see,” Sweden answered noncommittally, swiftly avoiding Sealand's deadly pout by asking, “So what do you want to hear about first?”

Sealand's grin turned slightly evil, eyes glinting with mischief as he responded without pause, “I wanna hear about your days as a Viking! Tell me all about how you kicked England's ass!”

Sweden groaned and kicked himself for not having guessed that this was exactly what Sealand was going to say. Sighing, he dug in his pocket to hand Sealand his phone. Sealand looked at him expectantly, bushy eyebrows arched quizzically.

“If you really want to know about what we did as Vikings, you're going to have to get Denmark and Norway over here.” Sweden said, gritting his teeth at the thought of spending an afternoon reliving the glory days with that exuberant idiot.

But his ire couldn't last in the face of Sealand' obvious excitement, his voice bubbling with happiness as he talked hurriedly into the phone, “Uncle Denmark! How am I? I'm awesome! You know why? Papa says he's going to tell me all about his history and that if I want to really know how you kicked jerk-England's ass back in the day, I need to invite you and Uncle Norway over. Won't that be fun?”

Sweden tried to ignore Denmark's equally enthusiastic response floating from the receiver, choosing instead to return to staring out the window, thinking about Finland.

“Sweet! Denmark says that he and Norway will come over and hang out sometime this week and he'll teach me all about being a bad ass like him!” Sealand gushed, clearly enamored with his idiot uncle from the south.

Wanting to divert Sealand's attention away from Denmark and his ideas of badassery, Sweden sat back down with another cup of coffee, clearing his throat and asking, “Before we get that far, tell me what Finland told you about what he remembers from even before that time and I'll fill in what memories I have, too.”

Sealand settled, seemingly pleased to have an adult's sole attention, resting his hand in his chin and smiling at Sweden.

“Well, Papa, it went a little something like this.....”


	3. Chapter 3

_Finland_

The first thing he remembers is the cold. Cold that settled on him like a blanket, seeping deep into his bones, shifting like the ever falling snow on his skin, waking him to life.

He knew nothing, mind pristine and white, void of anything but the whispers of the endless trees in vast forests that said to him, _“you are ours, as we are yours.”_

And the lakes and the islands and the hard scrabble rock called to him, pulsed beneath his fingers, pulling from him the one word he thought that he had always known; rushing wind and bubbling water, all of it singing to him:

 _Suomi, Suomi, Suomi._

He was so small, pale and fragile like ice that has just begun to creep across the water's surface, existence almost ephemeral as there were so few people to give him life, to be the air in his lungs, the beat in his heart.

His people, they were scattered and sparse, but together they looked out over the sea, taking what they could to sustain their meager lives on the land. He held countless hands in his own tiny and frigid grasp, suffering and surviving within the circle of their arms, as they tried to grow stronger together.

Sometimes there were others that would pass him by draped in cloaks of fur, menacing swords at their sides. They brought with them another who was like him but taller and somehow inspiring of fear, and he would hide, slight and unremarkable but for his bright eyes, going almost always unnoticed as these other men sailed through his precious lakes and trampled through his lands in a resolute march for parts unknown.

Only once did the one who was like him, another who felt of undying stone and soil, who stood tall and thrumming with nascent power, turn his eyes to find him watching from the snow bank, gaze blue and still like water.

Frightened, he ran into the depths of his forest, letting the sound of the trees and feel of the earth call to him, still murmuring, _“Suomi, Suomi.”_

They would come again and again, in long boats and on foot, passing through without a word and coming back smelling of spice and feeling of strength. He stayed away, wary and weak, hiding amongst his people from these men who brought strange and wondrous things to their villages.

And then one day, the man with the still blue eyes came to him and spoke to him in a voice that silenced the comforting hum of his forests and the whispering of his seas as he took his hand and called him, “Finland.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I'm betting that blue-eyed guy was you, right, Papa?”

“Hello? Papa? Are you listening to me?!”

Sweden's attention snapped back to the present as fingers smudged with jam and flecked with bread crumbs waved irritatedly in his face, allowing Sealand's words to finally filter through the lingering haze of remembrance. The long forgotten memory of Finland's eyes, wide and scared, and the rush of power he'd felt as he'd held Finland's captive hand faded once again as Sweden came back to himself.

Sealand pouted, glaring at him accusingly, “Jeez, were you even paying attention to what I was saying?”

Sweden sipped his coffee, letting the bitter heat rouse him, voice placating as he spoke, “Yes. Told it so well I got lost in the past for a bit.”

Sealand puffed up with pride, buttering yet another piece of toast, “So, am I right? Were you the scary guy Finland was talking about?”

“I was. Am.” Sweden admitted, remembering how he had once thought Finland so weak and inconsequential; like a tiny, shivering rabbit that he wanted to bring in from the cold, wanting to hold someone so small and powerless within the palms of his hands.

He stared out the window, watching the snow start to fall, listening to Sealand hum with happiness as he crunched into his toast, recalling how even then, when to his people Finland was no more than a passageway to richer lands, he had wanted to protect and possess the mysterious boy, to give him another name that belonged to Sweden alone.

 _And here we are, a thousand years later, and he still bears that name that I gave to him, and we are as far apart now as we were then, when I took his hand in mine and told him who he was to be._

Sweden was startled from his troubled thoughts by Sealand's bubbly voice, asking, “So, did you guys hang out all the time after that?”

“No,” Sweden answered, “I was busy doing other things then.”

“Like what?” Sealand questioned, eyes still bright with interest.

“Traveling, mostly. This was during my early Viking days. Made it as far as Greece and Turkey's old place.”

Sealand whistled, clearly impressed and Sweden tried not to feel too pleased by his open look of admiration.

“That's so awesome!” Sealand enthused, holding out his hand for a high-five. Amused, Sweden slapped his outstretched palm, feeling his mood lift, momentarily buoyed by Sealand's enjoyment of his past exploits.

And then his excitable little charge totally threw him off guard, when he propped his head in his sticky hand and sighed happily, “If I'd been around back then, the Great Sealand would have sailed even further than you AND hung out with Finland. I bet Finland was really cute when he was young.”

Sweden choked on his coffee, eyes widening at the dreamy look on Sealand's face and the warmth in his voice. He managed to cough out, “Why would you think that?”

Sealand looked up at him with an expression that clearly said he thought that question was incredibly stupid, “Duh. Because he's really cute now.”

Sweden blinked and tried to process the utter seriousness in Sealand's tone, mind still tripped up as he asked, “You think so?”

“Totally,” Sealand replied with conviction before spearing his flustered father with a steely look, “Don't you think so, too?”

 _"Do I think Finland is cute?"_ Sweden thought, trying to repress the urge to laugh, worried that if he did so, his son might feel compelled to defend Finland's honor with a butter knife. He wondered desperately when his morning had gone from quiet reflection to finding that he appeared to have twelve-year old competition for Finland's affection.

He certainly couldn't fault the kid for his good taste.

Later, he would blame his shock for the fact that instead of just indulging Sealand by nodding his head, he opened up his mouth and said with clear, perfect, sincerity, “No, I think he's perfect.”

The room fell silent as Sealand looked at him with his mouth hanging open in surprise. The stillness only lasted for too brief a second before Sealand was up and out of his chair, staring intently at Sweden.

“Oh my god!” He crowed, pointing and laughing, “you're blushing, Papa!”

Sweden couldn't help but flush more deeply, even as he he turned away from Sealand's delighted eyes and grunted, “Am not.”

Sealand laughed harder, poking him in the back, “You so are! You totally have a crush on Finland!”

 _“A crush. Right.”_ Sweden thought, wondering how much Finland would like to hear their thousand years of tangled history attributed to some passing, adolescent fancy. He knew how much he was enjoying having his feelings be obvious enough that his son was calling him out. If only Sealand knew how big of a “crush” they were dealing with here. He snorted in bitter amusement, which Sealand appeared to take as Sweden's weak attempt at denial.

He felt Sealand pat him condescendingly on the back, telling him, “Don't worry, Papa. I won't tell anyone.”

Sweden turned back around, rolling his eyes at Sealand's mischievous look, mumbling, “Nothing to tell.”

Sealand skipped away, smiling as he said, “Whatever you say! Can't blame you for it!” He paused at the kitchen door, sighing wistfully as he walked out, “If I were bigger, I'd totally ask him to go out with me.”

Already exhausted, Sweden slumped down into his chair, rubbing his forehead, wondering just what he had gotten himself into when he had agreed to this little history lesson, only regretting it further when Sealand popped his head back in and cheerfully informed him that Denmark was coming over in two days.


	4. Chapter 4

“The most important thing to understand is that we, all of the Nordics, have an unshakeable affinity for the sea,” Norway said softly from his perch on Sweden's couch, legs tucked underneath his body and a pillow held at his side, acting as a flimsy guard against Denmark's enthusiastic flailing.

Sealand was sprawled on the floor, Sweden's old atlas opened in front of him, eyes open with rapt attention, completely focused on the two men before him, seemingly already enthralled, though they had not yet begun to tell their tales of the Viking days of yore.

Sweden sat in his armchair, alert and wary of what, exactly, Denmark might deem appropriate material for a twelve-year old audience.

Sealand smiled at Norway and the shy, hesitant tone of his voice as he said, “I've got that affinity thing for the sea, too! We've got something in common,” made Sweden's chest clench.

“That's right, kiddo, you're most definitely one of us!” Denmark said warmly, giving Sealand the trademark wink and thumbs up that usually made Sweden's eyes roll but now only him happy to count the man as family.

Sealand beamed at Denmark like he'd just promised him 365 days of Christmas, hero-worship in his eyes as he asked excitedly, “So, are you gonna tell me all sorts of cool stuff about being a Viking? I tried asking Papa for awesome stories, but he said that he mostly went off exploring during those days. He wouldn't tell me anything about showing England who was boss!”

Sweden could hear the pout in Sealand's tone and, unfortunately, could see the growing glee on Denmark's face as the man began to warm up to his very, very, appreciative audience.

“Well, we all did a lot of exploring back in those days, buddy, not just your boring old dad! Man, I remember the first time I saw one of Norway's long boats. It was freaking gorgeous! I couldn't wait to get in and see what the open waters had in store for me!” Denmark said, lacing his hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling, as though if he looked long and hard enough, he could actually summon the past into being.

Sweden was amused to see that Norway's normally blank face had gone slightly pink as he looked at Denmark with faint surprise.

“You thought my boats were gorgeous?” Norway asked, clutching the pillow against his side a little tighter, as if he suspected that Denmark's flattery was part of some nefarious plot. Normally, Sweden wouldn't have put it past him, but it was clear that Denmark's thoughts were already a thousand years away, carried on sea spray and the thrill of exploration.

“Sure, I did,” Denmark murmured before he pitched forward in his seat, leaning on his knees and looking directly at Sealand, who sat up very much like an eager pupil ready to receive his first lesson, hanging on his teacher's every word:

“So, you want to know about how your dad and your two favorite uncles brought Scandinavian awesomeness to England's shores? Well, to do that, I gotta introduce you to one of the most amazingly bad ass kings ever, Cnut the Great.”

Sweden let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, relieved of his nagging worry that Denmark would chose to tell Sealand the brutal story of Lindisfarne, giving away the gory details of the Vikings' pillage, plunder, and rapacious murder of the Christian priory. He had not been looking forward to trying to undo the damage that particular story was sure to do to his image as upstanding father and general good guy, even if none of them had actually been present at the slaughter.

Guilt by association was never fun.

Sealand was nodding as Denmark continued explaining, “So, Cnut, who was one of mine—and really, he was so awesome, where else would be from--- came along towards the end of our Viking days and even though he was the second son and never meant to be king, by the time he died he was king of Denmark, Norway, and some of Sweden.”

Sealand looked duly impressed, which only added fuel to Denmark’s fire.

Denmark paused for dramatic effect, at which Norway and Sweden shared a long suffering glance, “And he was also king of England!”

“No way!” Sealand breathed out, clearly sold on Cnut's “awesomeness” before Denmark had even really begun to spin out his story.

Eyes twinkling, Denmark chirped back, “Yes, way! And let me tell you,” he pointed at Norway and Sweden, “I had more fun than I'd ever had in my whole life up until that point when the three of us followed Cnut down into England and chased that little fucker all over his island!”

Sealand turned to face Sweden, exclaiming, “What? You knew Cnut, too, Papa?”

Sweden didn't have a chance to answer before Denmark commandeered Sealand's attention once again as he said, “You bet he did, kiddo! Once upon a time your old man was a force to be reckoned with, even if he's never been as bad ass as me....”

Sweden snorted, unwilling to justify that idiocy with a retort, remembering several times in which Denmark was on the receiving end of his badassery, choosing instead to favor Denmark with an unimpressed glare.

Apparently inured to the power of Sweden's “eat-shit-and-die” look, Denmark continued weaving his tale, “We'd been sailing into England and roughing him up for years, of course, but Cnut, he had vision, a grand plan for greatness! He set his sights on making that whole island his own and when he decided it was time to invade, I was the first one on that boat! Norway and Sweden, well, they've always been less quick on the uptake than yours truly, OW, that hurt, Norge!”

Denmark broke off to pout and rub his shin while Norway stared blankly into space as if he had no idea what Denmark was on about.

 _“Business as usual,”_ Sweden sighed inwardly, wondering how much bodily harm Denmark would come to during the telling of this story.

Giving up on exacting any kind of attention from Norway, Denmark returned to Sealand, happy smile back in place, “Anyways, like I was saying, these two decide they want in on the action, too, and we all go with Cnut, sailing right onto England's front lawn like we owned the place. You should have seen it! 10,000 Vikings and more ships than you could imagine! The pride of Scandinavia… we were a sight to behold!” Denmark finished with a sigh, gaze gone hooded and distant.

In the ensuing silence of Denmark’s daydreaming, Norway picked up the thread of the story, a tiny smile ghosting across his face as he remembered, “Don't let this idiot fool you. We didn't just set down onto dry land and have England fall prostrate before us. There were months of battles and one very long siege involved.”

“God, it was so much fun,” Denmark murmured as he slid off the couch and knelt at Sealand's side, pulling the atlas forward and tracing a finger over England's unchanged shape.

“We started here, in Sandwich and with our shields and our spears we brought one army of England's after another to defeat, making our way through villages and fields,  taking what we wanted and claiming it for the Vikings, for Denmark,” Denmark said, voice going low, rumbling like a man calling his troops to arms.

Sweden felt his own blood start to rush with the old feelings of wartime, the long-forgotten excited thrill of the victorious conqueror. A vague recollection of the three of them standing on some muddy and blood soaked field outside of the walls of London passed before his eyes and he remembered how he and Denmark and Norway had somehow known this was a moment in which their people would claim a great moment in history.

He could sense the power of their shared story in the room, humming along the ties that bound them together; their minds cast back to that heady and remarkable time as Norway also lowered himself to the floor, sitting close enough to Denmark that they were touching, speaking as though casting an enchantment:

“We’d been traveling and fighting for months, slowly bringing England to his knees as we chased Edmund, the would be king, harrying our way across the North until we reached the Thames and London’s mighty walls.”

He paused, looking up at Sweden, murmuring, “Do you remember? How annoying it was digging ditches and building dikes, relegated to manual labor while this fool went off his with beloved Cnut to fight in the North? How many times we had to draw swords against England’s ragtag armies, scurrying out from behind London’s walls to bloody their blades?”

“I do,” Sweden assented, falling under the spell of memory, feeling as though he was once again ankle deep in the turbid waters of the Thames, the palm of his hand itching for the rough hewn hold of his broadsword, vaguely wondering if his old shield, emblazoned in gold, was stashed somewhere in the attic.

Sealand was hanging on their every word, eyes darting between the three men, his own face flushed with reflected excitement as he asked breathlessly, “What happened next?”

Denmark favored Sealand with a sharp grin, “After months of fighting and pursuing that persistent little bastard all across his lands, England decided he had had enough and tried to come out and face me and Cnut directly.”

He took Sealand’s hand and placed it over the map, speaking with uncharacteristic seriousness and admiration, “No matter how annoying or ridiculous he might seem to you now, you should know that England has always been one ballsy, gutsy, little shit. He’s got a spine of steel.”

Sealand’s eyes widened and he nodded his head, sitting up a little straighter as if his own spine had received a sudden infusion of metal.

Norway covered both of their hands on the atlas, though he looked at Denmark as he spoke, “We had all gone back to the longboats, Sweden and I finally recalled from the tedium of siege, and we were together again.”

Denmark held his gaze, smirking as he continued the story, “And not a moment too soon, since out came England, so much smaller but still such an arrogant, brave little bastard with his armies behind him. And there we were, three magnificent motherfuckers charging forward with the blood and brawn of our countries, axes and spears and swords cutting a swath of fury. I never knew what a vicious little beast you could be before that day, Norge. You were amazing.” Denmark said his words rich with admiration.

Norway’s eyes sparked with barely concealed pleasure and Sweden began to grow wary of the growing heat in the room, the way the focus seemed to be spiraling inwards to the increasingly tiny space between the two.

Much to Sweden’s relief, Sealand appeared blissfully unaware of what was happening right in front of him, thinking only of guts and glory as he pushed forward, “Did you win?”

Without breaking their staring contest, Norway answered, “We most certainly did. I recall Denmark marching through the battlefield, stepping over the broken bodies of countless men, streaked with the colors of war, smiling like the idiot he was and is, and I knew that we had been victorious.”

“It was a valiant attempt by the little man to try and stand up to me, but with our Viking spirit we crushed him under the soles of our boots, grinding England into submission. It was one of the greatest days of my life, standing side by side with Norge and watching Cnut declare victory,” Denmark spoke fervently, eyes wide with passion, his body gone tense as it leaned ever closer to Norway.

If his past experiences were anything to go by, Sweden had a sinking feeling he knew exactly how this little scenario was going to end and wishing to spare his son any life-scarring visuals, cleared his throat loudly and kicked his heel against Denmark’s ankle, demanding his attention.

He rolled his eyes when he found himself on the receiving end of two very different but equally potent dirty looks, choosing instead to look down at his son, who continued to coast along ignorant of the drama playing out around him.

“Thanks to that victory, Denmark got to see Cnut crowned King of England on Christmas Day. I’ll never forget the look on his face as England knelt before him, all gritted teeth and badly concealed rage, swearing an oath of fealty,” Sweden said, trying to ignore the fact that Denmark’s hand was now possessively caressing Norway’s thigh as his face took on that very same expression from a thousand years ago, smug satisfaction and unrestrained confidence

“I take it back,” Denmark said, smiling wolfishly, “THAT was one of the greatest days of my life. I can still taste how delicious it was, all that power and control.”

He shared a heated and secret look with Norway as he murmured lowly, “Remember how good it tasted, Norge?”

Sweden knew it was time to get the minor out of the room when Norway’s eyes fluttered shut and his voice changed into something he had hoped not to ever have to hear again, all smoke and the promise of sin as he answered, “I’ve been subject to your idiocy for so long, I could use a reminder.”

“OK! I think we could use some coffee!” Sweden said hurriedly as he stood up from his chair, grabbing Sealand by the wrist and pulling him up and away from the two vagrants on the floor, ignoring his son’s spluttering protests as he insisted, “Sealand, you can help me in the kitchen!”

He practically carried Sealand into the kitchen, swiftly shutting the door to block any visions of debauchery, hoping that Norway at least would have the decency to take their lack of privacy and the presence of others into consideration.

His far too long familiarity with Denmark made him wearily doubtful of that possibility, and so he attempted to distract Sealand from looking longingly at the door to the living room.

“Did you enjoy that story?” Sweden asked as he flung open cupboards with more force than necessary, hoping to override any sounds that might start coming from the other room.

Sealand’s eyes sparkled as he bounced up and down on his toes, “It was so cool! I can just picture you all, covered in mud, swinging a giant sword and giving a mighty yell as you and Uncle Denmark beat everyone up! And Uncle Norway standing in one of his boats as it raced up the Thames, bringing fear into jerk-England’s heart! And Cnut! And all the Vikings…”

Sweden listened with half an ear to Sealand’s enthusiastic ramblings, amazed by the ability of his imagination to make an already over-the-top retelling of the glory days of yore even more outlandish, when in actuality he had more memories of endless days dirt and boredom than battlefield heroics.

Absently, he ran his fingers over a tiny, ancient scar on his wrist, gained long ago on that field in England, a gift from a dying man’s last ditch effort to save himself from the sharp end of Sweden’s sword.

 _“It had been good to remember, even for a moment, what it felt like to be in battle with one another instead of at war with each other_ ,” Sweden reflected, thinking of nights around a fire filled with tankards of mead and the poetic songs of their peoples, the intense feelings that had been engendered between their three nations as they all honored one king.

And then he remembered that those intense feelings were currently being manifested on his living room floor. He pinched the bridge of his nose, desperately trying to think of how to get rid of them.

The grip of Sealand’s sweaty hand around his wrist brought him back to reality as his son pulled on his arm and asked excitedly, “Do you have any of your old Viking stuff? I wanna use it to scare England the next time I have to see his ugly face!”

Briefly, Sweden worried about the influence Denmark already seemed to be having on his kid but then realized this was the opportunity he had been looking for.

“I might have some in the attic,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as if totally disinterested, “you could go look for it now if you want.”

Sealand looked ecstatic as he jumped up and down, still holding onto Sweden’s wrist, exclaiming, “Really?!!? I’m going right now! You are so cool, Papa!”

Sweden patted his arm fondly, smiling magnanimously as he pushed Sealand towards the door that led to the upstairs, saying, “Just remember that when I ask you to do chores tomorrow.”

Sealand nodded distractedly, already racing out into the darkened hallway much to Sweden’s relief, clearly having forgotten about their guests in the excitement of undiscovered treasures.

When he was certain that Sealand was out of hearing range, Sweden kicked open the door to his living room, totally unsurprised when he found Norway on his back with Denmark between his legs, the two of them locked in a messy and heated embrace.

Denmark had the nerve to look up and growl in annoyance at the interruption, to which Sweden glowered and delivered a swift blow to Denmark’s side with his socked foot, sending him toppling from his perch above Norway.

“I thought at least you would know better,” Sweden spat at Norway, whose face smoothed back into placidity as he straightened his clothes and his ruffled hair.

“C’mon, you know how it is, Sweden! Thinking about the good old days gets the blood pumping and you just can’t help but go for it,” Denmark whined as he attempted to reach for Norway again, only to have his hand swatted down.

And Sweden did know how it was, trying to stem his own flood of memories of hurried trysts in the aftermath of the heat of battle from overtaking him, the taste of such recollections bitter and leaden in his mouth.

He breathed deeply, trying to regain his sense of calm as he shot Denmark another deadly glare, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him up to his feet, “You don’t do that in front of my kid!”

Denmark finally had the good grace to look sheepish as he mumbled out an apology.

Sweden sighed and released him, rolling his eyes as he saw that Denmark had immediately shuffled over to Norway’s side, as terrible at subtly as he ever was.

“You can go now. Thanks for the history lesson. I think,” Sweden said as he pointed towards the door.

“Ha-ha! Tell Sealand he can come to me anytime if he needs more tips from Uncle Denmark!”

Norway shoved Denmark out into the cold night as he bid Sweden farewell, “Tell him he can come to me to learn how to not be an idiot like Uncle Denmark.”

Sweden watched as they made their way out to the car, Denmark striding forward with all the aggressive swagger of a man still riding the high of his old power, dragging Norway behind him.

When he saw Denmark’s hand slide precariously low on Norway’s back he called out, “For God’s sake, at least leave the driveway, you asshole!”

He sighed with relief when their car screeched out of his driveway and down the road, turning to go back inside, hoping to settle in and relax with coffee and quiet for the rest of the evening.

“YAAAAAAARGHHHHHHHHHH!!! BEHOLD THE MIGHTY SEALAND!!!!!”

Sweden jumped in shock, feeling all his precious of hopes of peace and quiet come tumbling to the ground and shatter at his feet as he took in the sight of Sealand standing in the hallway, brandishing a tarnished old sword, cracked shield, and a helmet that was two sizes too big sliding down his forehead.

“BOW DOWN TO MY GREATNESS!!!” Sealand shouted as he ran about the room, waving the sword and putting all Sweden’s lamps in danger.

“I give in,” Sweden said tiredly as he slumped down on the couch and thought about he only had a thousand more years of history to go before this was over.


	5. Chapter 5

Three days later and the Viking Era had yet to cease going through its renaissance in Sweden’s household. When Sweden wasn’t busy working, or making preparing for Christmas, he was busy answering Sealand’s non-stop barrage of questions:

 _“Did you ever brain anyone with your shield?”_ (Yes.)

 _“Did you really wear your hair in braided pigtails?_ (No! Who told you that?!)

 _“Did you use human skulls to drink mead out of?”_ (No, please ignore anything Denmark tells you.)

And so on and so forth, from dawn until dusk, Sweden patiently endured Sealand’s enthusiastic interrogation, even though his teeth ground and his fists clenched each time he had to listen to Sealand’s pouty disappointment that he wasn’t allowed to have a “Viking tussle.” No matter how many times he had tried to divert Sealand’s attention away from Vikings and “tussling,” he came up short, much to his frustration.

Needless to say, Denmark was permanently off his Christmas list unless Sweden could find a gift that would somehow communicate the wild inappropriateness of having sex within 100 feet of him at any time, let alone when there were children present.

As he drove home after leaving work early for the holidays, Sweden entertained himself with thoughts of how to repay Denmark and Norway for the calamities they had wrought in his house, momentarily grateful for Sealand’s over-eager interest in Viking battle tactics for reminding him of some of the more creative forms of punishment.

However, for the sake of his lamps and his sanity, he was beginning to wonder if there was anything “cool” enough to break the stranglehold that 1000 A.D. had on his daily life.

Tired and praying for a quiet evening free of battle cries and swinging swords, Sweden stepped into his house, shaking the snow off of his coat as he hung it on the rack, sighing as he saw that Sealand had once again neglected to practice proper shield maintenance.

He was about to call out to his wayward son when, to his great surprise, (and barely suppressed pleasure), he heard Finland’s voice floating out of his office. Much to his embarrassment, he felt his heart flutter and Sweden wondered when exactly he had reverted to being a teenager with a crush, as opposed to a man with one half of a tragic and violent past.

Sliding off his shoes, he made his way quickly down the hall, wondering why Finland’s laughter sounded so distorted, finding the answer as he pushed open the office door to find Sealand spinning around in his desk chair while Finland stared out him from his computer monitor.

“Papa! You’re home!” Sealand chortled, not stopping his spinning motion, waving as he flew around and around.

Sweden rolled his eyes and thrust out a hand to arrest the dizzying chair spin, bending down so that Finland could see him through the webcam.

“Hello, Sweden,” Finland said, voice rich with mirth and eyes shining with amusement, “Sealand and I have just been having a very interesting Skype chat.”

“Evening,” Sweden muttered, wondering exactly when Sealand had had the opportunity to find Finland’s number. He turned to find Sealand grinning up at him, looking as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Sweden was not fooled, giving him a slightly disapproving glare as he asked, “What exactly have you been bothering Finland about?”

Sealand took immediate offense, huffing out, “I’m not bothering him! I just wanted to ask him about Vikings!”

“I should have guessed,” Sweden mumbled as he cast his eyes towards the ceiling, seeking patience, only to be shoved out of the way as Sealand screeched, “Oh my god, I have to show Finland my stuff!!! Don’t go anywhere, okay, Finland!”

He didn’t wait to hear Finland’s bemused acquiescence before darting out of the room, leaving Sweden standing awkwardly alone in front of the computer. With a sigh, he sat down in the chair, meeting Finland’s gaze on the monitor, wincing when he the deep circles under his eyes and the weariness in his face.

“Sorry about that, don’t know what that boy’s thinking,” Sweden said apologetically.

Finland laughed and waved him off, “Not at all. It’s been very informative! I think he's been telling me more than I've been telling him! Sealand's quite the expert. Though I’m not sure I know exactly what a Viking tussle is…”

Sweden flushed and groaned, “Denmark. Norway. In my yard.”

He watched as Finland’s eyes widened in understanding, completely infatuated with the way his cheeks pinked and his mouth curved upward as he nodded and breathed out, “Oooooh.”

“Exactly,” Sweden sighed as Finland started to laugh, covering his mouth with his hand, shoulders shaking.

“Now I understand why Sealand was told he couldn’t have one until he was older. You know, he asked me if I wanted to be his sparring partner!” Finland said, clearly delighted by the whole situation.

“I am so, so, sorry,” Sweden mumbled taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose, trying not to acknowledge the fact that his kid had inadvertently propositioned his former “wife” and current object of unrequited affection.

Finland giggled and giggled before he said, “Seriously, don’t worry. It was really nice to think about a time when all I had to worry about was Norse marauders, instead of all this,” he waved in the vague direction of a desk covered in papers and important looking folders.

Sweden leaned forward, his hands instinctively reaching out as if to comfort, stopping short when he remembered that this was a virtual conversation, settling instead for lowering his voice and asking sympathetically, “Rough day?”

Finland ran his hand through his hair and chuckled wryly, “Aren't they all?”

The weariness in Finland's tone, so out of his ordinary cheery good temper, caught Sweden by surprise and he automatically wished that there was something he could do to help bear the burden of whatever it was that was making Finland look so tired and worn.

“What's wrong?” He asked, peering over his glasses, watching Finland intently, trying to will him to understand how much he would be there to help if Finland ever needed it.

Finland laughed and backed away from the computer, holding up his hands as he said, “Hey, now, no need to look so serious and scary!”

Embarrassed, Sweden tried to school his expression back into impassivity as Finland continued, “Nothing is wrong, really, but you know how it is...our jobs are never done!”

Sweden nodded as Finland sighed, resting his head on his hand, whining adorably, “I'm so exhausted from today that I don't even think I have the energy to make something for dinner.”

Sweden started when he felt Sealand's now helmeted chin rest on his shoulder, apparently eavesdropping at the most opportune moment as he looked at Finland and said with warm enthusiasm, “You should totally come over here for dinner!”

Finland also looked surprised but pleased, casting a hesitant look at Sweden before saying, “Well, I think we should ask your Papa first...”

Sealand scoffed, thumping Sweden on the chest as he said, “Of course he's going to say its fine, right Papa?”

Sweden would never have turned Finland away and one quick look at his tired eyes and hopeful smile was all he needed to snap out of his fluster as he solemnly agreed, “Welcome anytime.”

“Well, thank you for the invitation, Sealand!” Finland said affectionately, winking at Sealand as he said, “you make for such a chivalrous Viking, I am sure you could teach those old Norsemen a lesson or two!”

“Hey!” Sweden huffed in jest, elbowing a smug Sealand off of his resting place on his shoulder before telling Finland, “Come whenever you can.”

“May I bring Hanatamago with me?” Finland asked as he started to stand and gather his things.

“OF COURSE YOU CAN BRING YOUR DOG!” Sealand shouted with ear shattering joy.

“Alright, alright, I will!” Finland laughed, sharing a secret look of sympathy with Sweden as Sealand bounded about the room waving his sword and raving about his dinner guests.

“See you soon!” Finland sing-songed before he closed the connection and left the room.

Sweden watched as Sealand continued to romp, feeling his heart rate accelerate and his stomach twist with anticipation. He needed to figure out what to make for dinner, what to say so that Finland wouldn't feel bored or awkward or like Sweden was a crappy, scary guy to eat with.

Abruptly, Sealand stopped, casting a critical eye over his own person and then over Sweden. Eyebrows furrowing resolutely, he disgarded the helmet and set down the sword, marching over and grabbing a confused Sweden's wrist.

As he started to drag them both from the room, Sweden asked, “What are you doing?”

Sealand shot him the classic teen look of ' _how stupid can you be'_ as he explained, “We've got to change our clothes before Finland gets here!”

Gobsmacked, Sweden looked down at his traditional suit and tie, wondering exactly what the problem was, protesting, “I've got to go make something for him to eat!”

Sealand moved to stand in front of him, hands on his hips as he shook his head in disappointment, “Really, Papa, Finland is never going to like us back if we don't put in any effort.”

 _Well,_ Sweden thought, chastised and chagrined, _I can't really argue with that._

  
A short time later, dressed in a casual blue button down and jeans, Sweden poured Finland another glass of wine and tried not to duck his head to hide his face as Finland praised his cooking.

“No! It was so good! I can't believe you've improved so much!” Finland enthused, patting his stomach as he slipped a scrap of meat to a begging Hanatamago.

Sealand's eyes lit with interest as he pushed his plate away and leaned in towards Finland, demanding, “Tell me more about Papa when he was young. Especially if it is funny or embarrassing!”

In retribution for his son's easy betrayal, Sweden flicked Sealand behind the ears and said, “Don't bother Finland with that nonsense. He's tired from a long day.”

“He's also sitting right here and can speak for himself,” Finland teased, waggling his finger at Sweden.

Sweden shrugged his shoulders and sat back down next to Finland, letting Hanatamago jump up in his lap, her little paws propped on his chest as he stroked his hand down her back, mumbling, “Suit yourself, but don't say I didn't warn you.”

Finland whacked him lightly on the back before favoring Sealand with a dazzling smile, “Like I said earlier, its not such a bad thing to remember times when my biggest problem was trying to figure out how to avoid this super scary serious guy who kept barging into my country and running his mouth about this new God of his.”

Sweden squirmed in his chair, wondering exactly how Finland was going to relate the story of how he came to be a part of Sweden's house, how he felt about the beginning of Sweden's 500 year dominion over his lands.

Sealand looked delighted, returning Finland's bright, happy grin as he asked excitedly, thoughts clearly running a mile a minute, “Are you talking about Papa? What was he like? What was he doing? What were you doing?”

Finland laughed and motioned for Sealand to slow down as he tried to answer, “Well, your dad had been coming around for ages, completely ignoring me and my people as he just stomped on through to Russia or Estonia or who knows where!”

Sweden interrupted, protesting, “Never ignored you!”

Finland patted him condescendingly, voice mockingly soothing (which seemed to only fuel Sealand's avid interest), “Of course you didn't! Anyways, as I was saying, once the Viking days were over, all of a sudden, I start seeing Sweden with a bunch of men in strange looking robes with strange sayings coming into my nation and trying to tell everyone about the new religion that they had found.”

“What was he like?” Sealand asked, practically salivating with curiosity. Sweden watched as Finland's gaze went distant and distracted, as if he was trying to summon up a memory long lost.

“He was very serious and spoke very little, charging in with a cross on his chest and a sudden need to save my soul and take me under his control,” Finland murmured and Sweden felt himself transported back to those times; the days when his mind hummed of God and country and his lords were looking east, thinking of trade and power.

Finland continued, lightening the mood as he smiled lightly at Sealand, “Took him more than one try though, to bring his god and his law to Finland. We might have been small, but we were stubborn, too!”

Sealand nodded seriously, as if he would never doubt that Finland could be anything but amazing, asking the question that was burning in Sweden's gut, “Didn't you mind being taken over?”

Finland cast a quick, hidden gaze at Sweden, making his heart jump, before he answered, “I'm sure I didn't care for it at the time, but I was still weak and my people were still too scattered, so it was inevitable that someone stronger was going to come in and take me over. Same thing happened with Iceland. And at that time it was either going to be Sweden or Russia.”

Finland paused and looked at the table, murmuring so low that Sweden could barely believe what he heard when Finland said, “But if its a choice between Sweden and Russia, I think I always would have choosen Sweden.”

Sweden sucked in a breath, startling Hanatamago, who yipped and broke the stillness of the moment. Finland shook his head and went back to looking only at Sealand, who had been busy looking with great curiosity at the two men seated across from him.

“Besides, it wasn't so bad,” Finland said, smile back in his voice, “I got my very first city and beautiful cathedral.”

“In Abo,” Sweden mumbled, only to have Finland look at him sharply and correct him with steel in his voice:

“Turku.”

Startled by the sudden hostility in Finland's voice, Sweden turned away, trying to swallow down his anxiety.

Obviously confused by the sudden tension in the room, Sealand bravely asked, “So, did you come live with Papa then?”

For a moment Finland said nothing, before he let out a sigh and answered, not unkindly, “No, for a time he was too busy with the craziness that was medieval politics, fighting with Norway and Denmark and Estonia and Russia and who knows who else. I didn't really become one of the Nordics until we all went to live in Denmark's house.”

Sealand looked incredulous, pointing at Sweden with accusation, “You never told me you lived with Uncle Denmark!”

Finland laughed as Sweden snorted and rolled his eyes, spitting out, “Like to pretend that never happened.”

Horrified, Sealand protested, “You never tell me anything cool!”

Finland reached across the table and patted Sealand's hand, which, much to Sweden's bemusement, made him quiet down immediately.

“Don't worry, I'll make sure you hear all about it. But I think that might be a better story for when we're all together next week at Denmark's for Christmas.” Finland said soothingly, even as he kicked playfully at Sweden's leg under the table, trying to keep Sweden from grumbling that he was never setting foot in that pervert's house again.

“You promise?” Sealand asked, fluttering his eyelashes as Sweden watched Finland bite down on his lip in an attempt not to laugh.

“I promise,” Finland said with faux solemnity.

Looking at the clock, Sweden decided it was time for preteen amateur historians to give their suffering parent a reprieve and told Sealand, “Bed for you now.”

Sealand pouted but stood from the table, shooting a dirty look at Sweden before he smiled sweetly at Finland, “Thanks for coming over, Finland! I can't wait to see you next week.”

Finland stood up and hugged him, unaware of the blush that overtook Sealand's cheeks as he bid him goodnight.

Sweden looked on as Sealand walked away in a daze, wincing as Sealand turned around and asked, “Do you think we can all have a good tussle at Christmas time?”

“Go to bed, Sealand!” Sweden barked, trying not to join Finland in hysterical giggles, knocking the dog off his lap as he held back his amusement. Sealand rolled his eyes, apparently unamused by their adult antics, and left the room.

“Oh my goodness,” Finland giggled, choking back tears of mirth, “Denmark has unknowingly unleashed a monster.”

“I'm planning to make sure that he gets no opportunity to tussle with Norway for the entirety of our visit as revenge,” Sweden confided, eyes dancing playfully. He patted his lap in response to Hanatamago's whine, inviting her to return to her spot.

Their laughter died away as Finland reached out a hand to scratch behind his dog's ears, mumbling, “She misses you.”

Sweden put his own hand behind Hanatamago's other ear, looking down at Finland's bowed head, trying to keep his voice light as he echoed, “I miss her, too.”

For a moment they sat in silence petting the dog, neither one looking at the other, until Finland cleared his throat and pushed away, cheeks suspiciously flushed as he said, “Well, you'll see each other again in a few days.”

Disappointed that the fragile moment had broken so easily, but warmed through regardless, bouyed by the unexpected sweetness of both past and present, Sweden set the dog down on the floor and stood as well, speaking softly, “I'll look forward to it.”

Finland raised an eyebrow and smirked, “Even if its more opportunity for your son to be exposed to the awesome ways of his uncles?”

Sweden smiled a little, taking Finland aback with his sincerity as he said, “Even then.”

“I guess we'll look forward to Christmas then, won't we?” Finland replied happily, bending down to pick up his pup.

Sweden escorted them both to the front door, leaving Finland with a parting request, “If you can, try to think of something that Sealand might find even more interesting than Vikings. I'm worried about the furniture. And what Denmark might come up with if I leave it to him.”

For his troubles, Sweden received a sweet squeeze on his shoulder and an unexpected lick across his cheek from Hanatamago as Finland waved goodbye.

Just as he was about to get in the car, Finland paused, looked thoughtful, and then yelled out, “How do you think he feels about beautiful queens taking on hoards of pirates?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Copenhagen, 1399**

The twittering excitement of the court proved to be too much for the attention span of Sweden's nobles; apparently unable to focus enough to discuss the Queen's on-going practice of appointing Danish bishops and German bailiffs in Swedish towns, too distracted by whatever latest political drama or battlefield upset was working its way through the court gossip mill. After two years of uneasy existence in the so-called “Kalmar Union” and of daily feeling his patience and pride tested, Sweden was disinclined to see which of Queen Margaret's latest accomplishments or intrigues had all of the facile courtiers abuzz.

While Sweden could not help but admire and pay fealty to his new Queen (he flat out refused to acknowledge the pretender, Erik of Pomerania, knowing that all true power rested between Margaret’s dainty palms), he also felt a nascent bitterness in his bones as he was forced to walk steps behind a Denmark who grew more arrogant and powerful with each uncanny move his Queen made her chessboard of Scandinavia. Most days, Sweden felt as though he were a pawn to be moved about between the hands of inept and greedy leaders, interested only in the shifting fortunes of borders and seas, relegating his nation to this subservient status. He was not so ignorant as to be unaware of the benefits to the blurred union between he and Denmark and Norway, cognizant that their shared monarch and their shared strength allowed them to stand against the growing empires of the Continent and to be at peace with one another long enough to seek stability and growth.

This was not the first time he had watched his nobles scatter towards the Great Hall of the Copenhagen Castle, obviously more interested in the Queen's latest commotion than their own diminishing fortunes. He wondered what it was about this woman that commanded such respect and loyalty, though he was unable to deny that he, too, found Margaret's rare diplomatic shrewdness and cold fearlessness inspiring of devotion…and wariness.

God knew that Denmark worshiped at her feet, glowing with confidence and pride as he strode behind her, buoyed by an increasingly irritating and potentially dangerous sense of self-righteous entitlement; both nation and monarch subtly emanating their belief in Denmark's superiority as they charmed, bullied, and negotiated their way through the power struggles of Scandinavia.

Sweden's misgivings were only exacerbated by his relegation to a lesser position in Denmark's household, made obvious by the favor that Norway was granted. He took it as evidence of Denmark's political mistrust and personal preference the nightly scene of Norway settled by Denmark's side, as if occupying the position of consort and equal, while he was banished to sit with his nobles, isolated and excluded.

Only two years into the Union and he was already subjected to the murmurings and whispers amongst the courtiers of the disloyalty and rebellious spirit of the Swedes, forced to grit his teeth and endure Denmark's scathing remarks and unchecked arrogance. Norway said nothing, choosing to trail silently and faithfully behind Denmark's heels, indulging his whims and wants, giving away nothing of the calculations and plots Sweden was sure were fomenting beneath the surface of his bored visage.

While he was surrounded by his countrymen and a sea of Scandinavia's most important nobles, Sweden languished in an often solitary existence, either snubbed as perceived risk to courtly standing or frightening off those who dared to approach him with his intense stare and even more intense rhetoric. Occasionally, as he sat watching Denmark wind a proprietary arm around Norway's waist or shoulders, he desired to have such a relationship of his own---the nation in him wanting such a partner to help equalize the balance of power between him and Denmark, while the man in his heart and mind wanted companionship and purpose.

And so, when he walked into the Great Hall, called forth from his solitary brooding by the unusual appearance of a Norway without Denmark, Sweden wondered if perhaps Saint Birgitta had taken pity on him and answered his prayers.

For there, behind the pristine regalia of Queen Margaret, dirty, scared and confused, stood Finland, staring out at the assembly of glittering noblemen and women with wide, terrified eyes.

 _His_ Finland, for all that he had ignored his conquered lands before the formation of the Union, Finland was still to be claimed as his alone.

Sweden's heart jumped and his mind raced, eager to know how it was that after two years, the Queen had finally managed to bring his little nation into their fold, trying to suppress his triumphant glee at having such an equalizer returned to his control. He strode forward, pushing through crowds, only to be held back by Denmark's bruising grip and hissing whisper that “he was not to interrupt Her Majesty's speech.”

The Queen settled regally into her chair, giving audience to the bowing and scraping of the courtiers, a faint buzz of interest and thinly veiled curiosity permeating the room until she raised a single hand, silencing everyone with the tiniest of motions.

Her voice was flat and polished like marble, her demeanor strong and proud as she spoke, “Today We have returned a great prize to our dominion. After many struggles with the pirate brigands, those traitors that call themselves the “Victualling Brothers,” our valiant forces have ousted these swine from lands that rightfully belong to Us.”

Sweden bristled, displeased by the Queen’s tactic implication that Finland was no longer the sole responsibility of Sweden, that somehow this, too, was now something to be shared. Denmark gave him a razor sharp grin, twisting his fingers into the flesh of his arms, forcing him into submissive silence.

“We have brought back Finland from darkness and anarchy and We welcome our brother nation to the bosom of our court, and We shall thank Our Lord for this most welcome victory,” Queen Margaret declared as the gathered masses applauded and gave thanks and praise to their mistress.

In the ensuing wave of motion and activity Sweden tried to shake off Denmark’s hold, irritated when the other’s man’s iron grip did not budge, distressed to find that Denmark was casting a critical eye over the huddled and nervous figure of Finland. Sweden was suddenly acutely aware of Finland’s shabby apparel and the fraught expression on his pale face as he tried to shrink out of notice.

In an instant, he wanted both to shield Finland from the scathing harm of the court and remake him entirely into a Nation that he could be proud to count as his own. If Finland could just be given over to his protection and control, Sweden would make sure that he never wore such rough hewn rags again, that he would need not cower away from anyone.

“Certainly doesn’t look like much does he?” Denmark remarked caustically, needling Sweden as he continued, “But then again, this is your backwards and weak protectorate, so I shouldn’t have expected otherwise. To think my Queen expended so much effort to take him back from the pirates.”

Sweden growled and stamped on Denmark’s foot, forcing his release, whispering threateningly into his ear, wary of the constant awareness of courtiers not to be trusted, “I’ll thank you not to speak of what belongs to me in such a manner, lest you wish me to make my displeasure known to Her Majesty.”

Denmark smiled, slow and dangerous, “Is that a threat?”

“Would you like to find out?” Sweden returned with equal malice as they stared at each other with cold mistrust and badly concealed dislike. The air between them vibrated with tension and anger as the ladies and gentlemen of the court took discrete steps away, until their silent showdown was interrupted by the final member of their triumvirate.

“If you are finished with this pissing contest, Her Majesty has summoned you both,” Norway said under his breath, effectively putting an end to any dreams either man had of coming to blows.

Denmark snorted and swept away, always eager to answer his Lady’s call, leaving Sweden and Norway to follow behind, as they each gave a low and sweeping bow before Margaret’s throne. Sweden tried to catch Finland’s eyes to no avail, as the smaller man fidgeted and cast his gaze anywhere but on the three nations before him.

With an elegant wave of her hand, the Queen called Finland forth, gesturing with her other hand that Sweden was permitted to raise his head and hear her wishes.

“We believe that this nation belongs to you, Sweden, and so We return to him to your care,” She proclaimed, silencing Denmark’s protests with a single look. Sweden held his breath, waiting for the catch, for the demands that would be exacted upon him to receive such a favor.

“However, We also wish that his place in Our household be determined as Denmark sees fit, so as best to preserve the dignity and rank of Our office and Our court,” Margaret commanded as Sweden endeavored to grit his teeth and tolerate such a slight to his pride, resolving to show nothing of his fury and discontentment, knowing it would play directly into Her Majesty’s plans.

“Certainly, Your Highness,” Sweden managed, keeping his head bowed so as not to have to witness the smug triumph on Denmark’s face, nor Norway’s cold indifference. Instead he looked only at the threadbare state of Finland’s shoes, making a silent and solemn promise in his heart that he would do his utmost to protect Finland from the wicked wiles and machinations of this Union and to ensure that when it inevitably collapsed around them, they would emerge from the rubble together.

When the Queen had taken her leave and thankfully taken her lapdog and lapdog's lapdog with her, Sweden made his way over to Finland, reaching out a hand to take his shoulder, only to drop his arm lamely to his side when Finland flinched and backed away.

“You alright?” Sweden grunted as he peered down at Finland’s lowered head. Much to Sweden’s disappointment, Finland would not meet his gaze, simply nodding his head in agreement and continuing to wring his hands.

“The pirates, they didn’t hurt you?” He prodded, having heard ugly rumors about the brigands and their penchant for destruction and mayhem.

Finland finally looked up at him through the fringe of his ill-kept hair, evidently surprised that someone had inquired after his welfare. It made Sweden’s skin crawl to see his sunken eyes and fearful gaze, the way Finland seemed to shrink into himself, so frightened and beaten down.

He barely heard the murmur that escaped his bloodless lips, “Not much, no.”

The sad resignation compelled Sweden to raise his hand once again, this time moving quickly enough to clasp Finland firmly on the shoulder, using his other hand to tilt his jaw up, providing him with his first unfettered look at Finland’s face.

In spite of the tired anxiety and the neglect that was written under Finland's eyes and across his lips, Sweden felt something shift irrevocably inside him as he stared down at man he held between his fingers, so fragile and lovely, as he tried to hold his body still, blinking up with wide and sorrowful eyes.

 _Mine, mine_ … _I want him to be mine_ , his mind whispered and the word curled around his heart, breathing air into his lungs, as Sweden stood staring, entranced until Finland closed his eyes and started to mumble nervously under his breath.

Sweden leaned forward trying to hear what it was that he was repeating over and over again, releasing him immediately in ashamed horror when he realized it was a recitation of the Lord’s Prayer, finally understanding the depths of Finland’s fear.

He stepped back and watched with hurt frustration as Finland’s body slumped in relief. He cleared his throat and tried to soften his visage, wanting more than anything for Finland to never look at him with such terrified eyes; suddenly feeling the need to set out on the seas to bring swift retribution to those who had dared to bring such harm to what was rightfully his.

When he saw that Denmark had returned to the Great Hall, marching resolutely towards them, an unpleasant smirk plastered across his face, Sweden dared to touch Finland once again, taking his wrist in his hand, hold him as gently as possible.

Though Finland twitched and looked away, he did not flinch when Sweden leaned in close, whispering urgently, “I do not yet have the power to keep you from Denmark, but you needn’t fear him overmuch. He may treat you lowly to spite me, but he is not a cruel man. Just an arrogant, petty, bastard drunk on his own power.”

He felt Finland swallow and nod before he continued, wary of Denmark’s quickening steps, “Know this, as you are mine, I will do all that I can to keep you from shame or harm.”

He pulled away, pleased by Finland’s wide-eyed surprise, keeping his hold on his wrist until the very last moment before he slid away into the masses, whispering, “I will protect you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~  
612 years later, once again in Denmark’s house, watching as Finland laughed and tried to convince Sealand that there really wasn’t anything cool or fun about dealing with pirates, Sweden knew that he still wanted to protect Finland. That he wanted to trace his fingers along the soft skin under his eyes and erase the tiredness marked in dark smudges, that he wanted to be allowed to carry his burdens, and shelter him from anything that might him harm.

When he had tried to ask what was wrong when Finland sighed and rubbed at his eyes while they decorated Denmark's obnoxiously large tree, he's been casually brushed off with vague reassurances and references to work.

When he had offered his help, he'd been turned away with a sharp and cold, “I can handle it myself, thank you.”

He wished that in the past he had been able to protect Finland from himself, so that he would not be kept at such a distance in the present.

Sealand’s raucous giggling and Denmark’s return to the living room snapped Sweden out of his morose and melancholy moment, taking great pleasure in the secret smile he shared with Finland when Denmark realized that Sweden had taken up residence on the couch next to Norway and Iceland, preventing Denmark from sitting next to the one he still favored. Sweden repressed a satisfied smirk at the sight of Denmark’s scowling pout as he flopped down in his armchair.

Finland winked at him and then turned back to Sealand, who was draped over the back of his chair, eyes bright with excitement and interest as he asked, “So, you were really rescued from pirates by an ice queen and brought to live like a prince in Denmark’s palace?”

Finland smiled mischievously as he answered, “Well, it’s true that Queen Margaret did free my nation from the Victual pirates and brought me to Denmark’s house, but the only person that got to live like a prince there was this lazy wastrel,” Finland pointed at Denmark, who gazed in faux innocence at the ceiling, “who thought I was an unwashed bumpkin worthy only of being appointed as his stable boy.”

“Sorry about that, buddy!” Denmark said without a trace of apology in his voice.

Finland snorted and tossed a napkin at him, “You can make it up to me by going and getting me another drink,” he said as he waved his glass, currently empty of Christmas cheer.

Denmark groaned and heaved his lanky body out of his chair, smiling brilliantly at Finland, “Only because I am full of holiday spirit and not because I am in anyway remorseful of my decision to make you stable-mucker-in-chief. You were really awesome at it. Way better than Sweden ever was at being my secretary.”

“What? You were Denmark’s secretary, Papa?!” Sealand gasped, clearly scandalized as he looked at Denmark’s retreating back and Sweden’s stony face.

“Only because he made me,” Sweden mumbled, remembering how he deliberately wrote in poor penmanship whenever forced to take Denmark’s letters and how he occasionally “misplaced” important documents just to enjoy watching the dressing down Denmark received from their ruler-du-jour.

“Those were very different times! The nation with the most power got to dictate how those dependent upon them lived within their houses. Denmark wasn’t so bad compared to others!” Finland said, yawning and stretching his arms over his head, pulling his sweater up just enough to show the tiniest bit of skin. Sweden felt his cheeks warm, trying to avert his eyes from the way that Finland was wriggling around in his chair, trying to get comfortable.

They sat quietly for a moment, enjoying the sound of the fire and the lack of Denmark’s chatter, sharing each other’s company as they each remembered how many years they had spent forcibly together, roiling with tension and mistrust. Even if he could not have all the togetherness he might have wanted, Sweden was grateful that after so much war and violence, they had managed to reach this place of peace and friendship intact.

Sweden let his eyes fall closed, only to have them fly back open when Finland jumped from his seat and exclaimed, “Perkele! I forgot to bring in my gifts from the car! Ugh, I don’t want to go out in the cold!”

Without hesitation, Sweden stood as well, offering, “I’ll get them for you.”

“Oh, I can’t make you do that!” Finland protested, waving his hands to make Sweden sit back down.

Determined to do this one thing for Finland, since he could neither turn back time and prevent him from being forced to serve as Denmark’s lackey nor ask what exactly it was that was causing those circles under his eyes, Sweden ignored Finland’s protestations, walking towards the front door.

Finland sighed and grumbled, “Stubborn man,” before Sweden felt his wrist being grabbed and something being pressed into his palm.

“Since you’re so insistent, you might want to take these!” Finland said with fond exasperation as Sweden held up the keys that had just been delivered to him.

Sweden nodded and was about to continue on his task when his night took a turn for the unexpectedly wonderful and heart-attack inducing.

“Ooooohhhhhh!” Sealand shouted as he pointed above Sweden’s head, “you two have to kiss!!!”

Sweden and Finland looked up at the same time, to find that they were indeed standing directly under the mistletoe that Denmark had doubtless hung with Norway in mind. Sweden felt his cheeks burn, even as his stomach did a little flip at the sight of Finland’s own rosy flush and shy smile.

“Don't have to, if you don't want,” Sweden murmured, secretly hoping that Finland would be resolute in his determination to follow all Christmas traditions, even if they involved kissing.

“You most certainly do,” Norway said, a hint of amusement in his normally dull voice, “isn't that right, Iceland?”

Sweden tore his gaze away from Finland's lips to see the rest of his family smirking at him, Iceland nodding his head enthusiastically while Sealand was mouthing, “Do it, do it!”

“Well, it is tradition,” Finland said as his smile went soft and inviting. Sweden moved closer, trying to block out his overly interested audience, intending to savor this rare opportunity, this first chance to kiss Finland again in almost three hundred years. Finland leaned into him, going up on his tip toes and tilting his face up, eyes fluttering closed as he continued to smile.

Sweden cupped his face between his palms, just looking for a long moment, wanting to be able to remember this for later, the entire room narrowing to the space between his lips and Finland's. With an almost inaudible sigh, he brushed a kiss over Finland's parted lips, chaste and gentle.

Finland hummed a little before pulling back and blinking up lazily, licking his lips. Sweden was about to lean again, take his chances with a bonus kiss, only to be hip checked out of the way by a far too exuberant and most unwelcome Denmark, who had returned from fetching Finland's drink just in time to act as cockblock extraordinaire.

“What kind of mistletoe kiss was that!” Denmark laughed, grabbing Finland by the waist as Sweden scrambled to regain his footing. Denmark dipped Finland, exclaiming roguishly, “Let me you show you how it's done.”

Denmark never did have a chance to show off his kissing prowess as Sweden promptly tackled him to the ground and punched him in the gut. Finland yelped and stood aside, while Sealand launched himself out of his chair, tossing himself upon the two wrestling men with a gleeful yell:

“VIKING TUSSLE!”

  
An hour later, Sweden was sore and tired as he got ready for bed, having just finished brushing his teeth, amused to find that he spat out a tiny bit of bloody, no doubt courtesy of one of Denmark's overly enthusiastic right hooks.

Sealand came and lingered in the doorway to the bathroom, sighing out happily, “That was fun!”

Though he was secretly inclined to agree that it had indeed been pretty damned enjoyable to beat up on Denmark, Sweden felt that being a parent came first and so shook his head disapprovingly at Sealand as he shuffled out of the bathroom.

Sealand rolled his eyes as if he wasn't fooled for a second, still too pleased to have been part of his very first battle to care about his father's hypocrisy. Sweden watched as Sealand bounced on the bed, considered reprimanding him and then decided that since it belonged to Denmark it was acceptable just this once.

Because it was Christmas.

However, Sealand stopped without prompting, settling on his knees and peering at Sweden with a curious, calculating gaze. Sweden looked back, arching an eyebrow, wondering if he had toothpaste on his face, trying to repress the urge to squirm under such unexpected scrutiny.

Sealand's stare was unrelenting as he casually threw out, “So, you've got way more than a crush on Finland, huh?”

Trying not to choke or fall off the bed, Sweden averted his eyes and mumbled, “What would make you think that?”

“Um, you punched Uncle Denmark when he tried to lay one on Finland,” Sealand teased, enjoying this way too much for Sweden's comfort.

“True,” Sweden admitted, supposing that was a rather big tell, “but I might have done that anyways, just for fun.”

“Ah-ha! So you did think it was fun!” Sealand chortled triumphantly before wagging his finger and, much to Sweden's chagrin, returned to the subject at hand, “But beyond that...you should have seen your face when you guys kissed. It was like epically romantic. I thought for a second you were going to be a total girl and swoon.”

“....” Sweden had nothing to say to that in response, glad that the dim light of the bedside lamp likely hid most of his flush. He settled back on the pillows, hoping to avoid having this conversation any longer, by flicking off the light.

But Sealand being Sealand this was not to be and not even darkness deterred him from asking, voice soft and wondering, “So, do you...you know...love him or something?”

Sweden sighed, low and heavy, “It's complicated.”

“Like your history?” Sealand said quietly.

“Exactly.”

The room was silent for a moment, void of any noise but the whooshing sound of Sealand's breathing and rustling of the covers on his bed, and Sweden let his eyes fall closed, summoning the image of Finland just before they kissed.

“Well, Papa, the Mighty Sealand is going to help you with your complicated history and your totally obvious more than a crush!” Sealand declared and Sweden pinched his nose and prayed for patience.

“I will even forgo my own designs on Finland, so long as he can come live with us and always be way nicer to me than he is to you!” Sealand continued magnanimously.

“Your generosity astounds me,” Sweden grunted, begrudgingly touched and amused.

Sealand laughed and Sweden could picture his smile as he said, “That's why I had better be getting some sweet presents tomorrow morning!”

“Go to sleep, Sealand.”

“Sweet dreams of Finland, Papa!”

 _Great_ , Sweden thought, _I now have a Viking obsessed twelve-year matchmaker on my hands._

“Go to sleep, Sealand.”


	7. Chapter 7

Sweden looked in his rear-view mirror for the twentieth time in ten minutes, eyebrow twitching in irritation as Sealand received yet another text message on his new cell phone that came complete with a full suite of ringtones specially selected by Uncle Denmark for “awesome teenagers.” As the high pitched jangling started up yet again, Sweden comforted himself with a quick glance back at the car following behind and the delicious memory of the smudge of black under Denmark's eye, lovingly inflicted by his fist the night before.

He forced his eyes back to the road in front of them, as much as he wanted to continue watching Finland through his mirror, trailing behind as they both made their way to their respective homes from Denmark's place, cars laden with all the spoils of a holiday well spent. In the evening gloom, he could just barely make out the fact that Finland was singing along to the radio, occasionally waving his hands in quick aborted dance moves before the car would drift to the side and Finland's eyes would go wide as he scrambled to return them to the wheel, looking around sheepishly to make sure no one saw it.

Sweden thought it was incredibly endearing, if also wildly dangerous, and counted himself lucky for having insisted that Sealand accompany him in their car, though he had had other, more selfish, motivations at the time. For it had become clear to Sweden that morning, as they sat around drinking coffee and opening gifts, that his son had a real penchant for good humored mischief and had quickly come to consider himself as mighty a matchmaker as he did Viking.

Before 9am, he had already cornered Finland and “casually” demanded to know what he'd thought of their kiss under the mistletoe, managed to ensure that Sweden and Finland were forced to sit pressed together on the smallest couch by sprawling across the larger couch and dragging Iceland down to sit with him, and enthusiastically interpreted secret messages of hidden love in each of the gifts his Papa and his paramour had exchanged.

By noon, Sweden twitched every time his son came into the room, wondering what embarrassment was on his horizon, only to be find unexpected relief in Sealand's greater interest in his new phone than his father's tragic love life. He had managed to enjoy a relatively relaxing afternoon, keeping one wary eye on Sealand as he texted and took pictures and experimented (loudly) with every ring tone on the planet. It wasn't until they had packed up their cars and made their farewells to Norway, Iceland, and Denmark that Sealand looked up from his new obsession and turned to Finland, fluttering his eyelashes and opening his eyes in a wide, pleading expression and asked if he wanted to follow them back through Sweden on his way home so they could stop for dinner together somewhere along the way.

Sweden recalled the look of affectionate pleasure that crossed Finland's face, the way he had ruffled Sealand's hair and smiled softly, and for a moment Sweden was envious of his son's easy way of asking for Finland's time, for being able to say the words that sat on the tip of Sweden's shy, reticent tongue without hesitation.

But now, as they wound their way along the road in the waning daylight, as Sweden cast his gaze backwards once again, he was very glad to have an ally in his lonely love affair, even if said ally was about as subtle as a brick wall.

“He's not going anywhere, Papa, you can stop looking back every thirty seconds,” Sealand said, voice teasing, without looking up from his cell phone, which had chirped with another text message.

Caught out, Sweden flushed and mumbled, “Haven't been doing that. How would you know anyways? You've been glued to that thing.”

Sealand laughed and slid the phone in his pocket, apparently ready to return to his job of matchmaker and father-harasser extraordinaire, “You most definitely have. You get this dippy smile when you think no one is watching you watch him. The Mighty Sealand notices all.”

Sweden gripped the steering wheel and prayed to St. Birgitta for patience, desperately searching for a way to get Sealand off the subject of his apparent inability to be anything but a lovesick fool. And so, for the first time, Sweden offered up a story of his past without Sealand's insistent prompting.

Besides, it was rather appropriate to tell such a tale when he was leaving Denmark with Finland dutifully following behind him as they made their way into the night.

He cleared his throat, allowing himself one last look at Finland in the mirror before he started, “Was just thinking that this reminded me of when Finland and I ran away from Denmark's.”

Instantaneously, Sealand sat up straighter, asking eagerly, “You ran away? From that whole Union thing?”

Sweden nodded and Sealand's mouth opened into a wondering “Oh!” before he continued, eyes alight with interest, “What happened?”

“Need a couple of family trees and a few hours to explain all the squabbles over power that happened while we were all living together,” Sweden said, remembering how often succession and control of the Union had been an issue of contention, deciding it was more prudent to explain in terms that Sealand would understand, “Let's just say that Denmark and I got into a lot of arguments while we were living together in his house. We fought over control, over policy, over land, and he didn't like it much when my people kept rebelling against his bosses.”

Sealand hummed thoughtfully, waving a hand for Sweden to continue, “Towards the end we fought almost constantly, and it wasn't just little fights like you saw yesterday. These were times when Denmark and I couldn't be in the same room without coming to blows.”

“What about Finland and Norway?” Sealand asked and Sweden couldn't help but look back at the other car again, remembering how silent and withdrawn Finland had been for all those many decades in Denmark's house.

As he watched Finland's hands tap happily on his steering wheel, he spared a thought for the unhappy and frightened man he used to look at clandestinely while he cleaned the stables and cowered away from the sharp, sneering faces of the Danish nobles. He thought about how the Finland of those days would never meet his eyes, staring at the ground as he hid his gaze and called him “sir” in a tremulous voice; how many of his plans for the future, secreted away from Denmark's prying gaze, centered on building a kingdom of his own where he could take Finland from this obscurity and keep him at his side without shame.

 _“Such arrogant and misguided affection,_ ” Sweden lamented for not the first time.

Sweden sighed, “They didn't really have much say in the matter. Norway was getting weaker by the day, becoming more and more a part of Denmark, and Finland belonged to me, so what I wanted was what he wanted by default.”

“That's kinda messed up,” Sealand murmured as he turned to wave at Finland through the back window, clearly not sold on the old ways of dynasty and conquering nations.

“Its just how it was back then,” Sweden said quietly, remembering how he had so often failed in his promise to protect Finland from indignity during that time, so distracted by his endless battles with Denmark, far too caught up in his own designs for the future to even consider sparing a thought for what Finland might have wanted independent of Sweden's desires.

The car fell silent as Sealand stared out the window and Sweden wandered lost in his thoughts, listening with half an ear to the evening news burbling over the radio, absently noting that the reporter was discussing some new Finnish policy proposal, wondering why it seemed that the fates didn't want him to be able to escape from the subject. He sighed and switched the stereo off, startling Sealand out of his sullen contemplation.

“So why did you end up leaving?” Sealand asked and Sweden resisted the urge to sigh again.

“Eventually, Denmark ended up with a boss who was ruthless enough to try to crush the fight for Swedish independence. He marched into Stockholm and even though this man, Christian II, promised amnesty, he executed over 80 nobles and churchmen in the city. Didn't stop there either, murdered hundreds across my lands and Finland's. Just couldn't take it anymore, couldn't stand to be part of that kind of Union any more so I took Finland and walked out.”

His chest tightened with the pain of that memory, the way Denmark's eyes has blazed with crazed determination and righteousness as he'd tried to stop him from leaving, the bitter and unrestrained way in which they had fought that night as Norway, Iceland, and Finland looked on, watching as their attempt at unity dissolved with each blow. He remembered the patina of fear on Finland's face, the way his hand shook in his as Sweden pulled them both bodily from the wreckage of Denmark's Great Hall, stepping over Denmark's beaten, but never defeated, form as they passed into the night in pursuit of Swedish independence.

Sealand made a choked sound, voice disbelieving as he asked, “Uncle Denmark did that to you?”

Sweden reached out a hand to squeeze Sealand's shoulder, speaking in low and urgent tones, “We did a lot of horrible things to each other. Both of us. For the next hundred years. It wasn't just him. Don't blame him for the past. Its never just our fault, we are always a part of a larger whole and the more power our boss has, the more we have to do their bidding.”

“What do you mean both of you? What did you do, Papa?” Sealand breathed out, hands clenching against his knees. Sweden felt a twinge of guilt and sadness as he realized that Sealand had perhaps thought that the past would always be guts and glory, triumph and never tragedy. That he would never had to feel disappointment in his parent.

“Once I was free, we both wanted to be the most powerful, and we were very angry with one another for many years. Our bosses waged wars and as they were unkind, so were we. Bloody, cruel, times. I hope you never have to live through such things,” Sweden explained, shoving down his own discomfort as he recalled how vicious he and Denmark had been in their quest for control, the times he had walked down streets that ran with Danish blood, times he had wept for the villages that Denmark had razed to the ground.

He chanced a look at Sealand' troubled face, pale in the passing street lights, and felt his own pulse racing, stomach feeling ill with remembered sadness and guilt. Without thinking, knowing only that he and his son needed a break from the still confines of the car, he pressed the little button on his steering wheel, and sought relief.

“Call Finland.”

The ringing of the phone broke the silence and Sweden was glad to note that some of the tension had already bled out of Sealand's shoulders, loosening even further as Finland's happy voice tinkled through the speakers,

 _“Hello, Sweden, Sealand!”_

Both men smiled and Sealand poked at Sweden's side as he whispered, “Dippy look!”

Sweden rolled his eyes and shoved Sealand's hand away, asking, “Want to stop for something to eat?”

 _“Sounds great! Do you know a place?”_

“Decent place right up ahead,” Sweden confirmed, “Just keep following me.”

The car filled with the sound of Finland's light laughter as he answered, _“Always,”_ and ended the call.

Feeling his cheeks warm, Sweden saw that Sealand was staring at him with blatant amusement.

“Don't say a word,” Sweden growled playfully and Sealand held up his hands in mock surrender, though he smirked the entire rest of the way until the car stopped in front of a nondescript roadside restaurant and Finland stood before them, hands in his pockets, rocking on his feet as he smiled at his erstwhile suitors.

Sealand cast a sly glance between the two men before whooping enthusiastically and running inside, leaving Sweden and Finland to take a more adult and dignified stroll into the restaurant. As they walked side by side, Sweden looked at Finland out of the corner of his eye, happily noting that he was wearing the pale blue scarf that he and Sealand had given as a gift.

Abruptly, Finland looked up and Sweden was unable to dart his eyes away fast enough resulting in him being totally busted in the art of lovelorn staring.

“Something wrong?” Finland asked with light concern as they kept walking. Unable to say what had really been on his mind at that very moment, namely how good Finland looked wrapped up in things that had been made by his own two hands, Sweden decided it might be better to let Finland in on the real reason they had been so eager to make this pit stop.

“Was telling the kid about the dissolution of the Union. He got pretty upset about the Stockholm Bloodbath.” Sweden explained, voice low and a little pained. His skin tingled when Finland put a comforting hand on his wrist, his pretty eyes wide with understanding.

“Also didn't really like hearing about all the awful things Denmark and I did to each other in those days,” Sweden confessed.

Finland winced as he murmured, “No, I wouldn't think so. Its hard for us to learn that the people we love aren't perfect.”

“True.” Sweden agreed, though he wouldn't have minded if the illusion of his grandeur in Sealand's eyes had lasted a little longer. But the past was the past, and nothing could change what had been done, what had been gained and lost, no matter how much he might wish it otherwise. Such as every time he woke in bed still reaching for someone who hadn't been there in ages.

Finland interrupted his melancholy internal diatribe, patting him on the arm and smiling as they reached the diner doors, “Let's see if I can't do a little something to restore Sealand's lost faith in his mighty Papa!”

Baffled, Sweden watched as Finland hurried over to the table that Sealand had conquered on their behalf, joining them both as they perused the menus. He didn't have to wait long to find out exactly what Finland had in mind as he promptly asked Sealand, as soon as they had submitted their orders:

“So, I hear that your dad was telling you about the end of the Kalmar Union?”

“Yup,” Sealand nodded, though his answer was far less enthusiastic than his normal reaction to someone offering to talk shop with him.

Finland smiled and then said something nearly knocked Sweden out of his chair, causing his heart to trip even as his face stayed stoic and unmoved, “I have always been so glad that your dad took me away with him. Even though I thought he was scary and I had no idea how I was going to survive, oor even if we were going to make it at all, I never regretted that I was a part of Sweden when we finally did walk out on Denmark.”

Sealand's face softened and he favored a still in shock Sweden with a happy grin. Sweden took a large sip of water, trying to regain his faculties of speech.

He managed to choke out, “You were happy being in my household in those days?”

Finland looked at him with fond exasperation, “It was certainly better than cleaning up after Denmark's horses, even if those early years were hard and we didn't have much. You always gave me as much as you could.”

Sweden blinked behind his glasses, remembering that at the time, he had wanted to have Finland's attention, to show him how powerful and generous and good he could be and to share his bounty. He'd wanted to carry Finland over the threshold of his house and show him off and then keep him hidden away at night, privy to only his hungry gaze. He'd wanted to protect and be the only one Finland turned to for all his needs. But he never asked, never spoke, because Finland had always seemed so frightened, so nervous and kept himself at such a polite distance that all Sweden felt he could do was hold him silently in the night, an unasked for and probably unwanted affection that Sweden could not help bestowing.

“I always thought you were terrified of me,” Sweden mumbled, trying not to flush as he remembered the shame he now felt remembering how Finland would simply go tense in his arms as they laid together, embarrassed by the arrogant ignorance of his youth; the belief that he could make Finland love him back.

Finland laughed sheepishly, admitting, “Oh, I was! You would have been scared of you, too, if you had seen your face when you beat up Denmark. And you never said anything! Just tromped around looking mean and grumbling under your breath.”

Sealand snorted and arched an eyebrow at his father, “Good one, Papa.”

“But still,” Finland continued, managing to quiet down his laughter, “even though I was scared and those years of fighting and struggle felt like they would never end, I am glad I was there with you.”

Sweden looked Finland in the eyes, speaking to him alone as he murmured in agreement, “Me too. Never regretted you for a second.”

He liked the light blush that crawled across Finland's cheeks, enchanted by the way he bit his lip and averted his eyes, saying, “Besides, things certainly got good after that.”

Sweden swallowed and shifted in his seat, blood heating with memories of those golden days that followed the end of the constant conflict between he and Denmark, wondering if Finland felt it too.

Sealand nudged Sweden, breaking his reverie, “What happened then?”

Sweden coughed and looked away, “That's definitely a story for another day.”

For a moment they sat quietly as Sealand's face took on a considering expression, causing Sweden's embarrassment senses to tingle.

Sealand gave Finland a winning smile, and Sweden got even more concerned.

“I have a great idea,” Sealand enthused, pouring on the charm, “you should come over and have New Year's Eve dinner with us and then you and Papa can both tell me about these great days.”

Sweden thought this was a great idea, already thinking about other great traditions that involved mandatory kissing, pleased that Finland looked tempted to accept the offer, even as he demurred, “I am sure you father has plans.”

Sealand laughed and answered, “He totally doesn't.”

“Hey!” Sweden protested, even as Finland and Sealand giggled at his expense, “Never mind him, Finland, we would be happy to have you, and I would be glad to have someone else tell stories to this demanding kid.”

It was now Sealand's turn to yelp out an indignant, “Hey!” causing Finland to laugh harder before he calmed down enough to tell them, “I would love to come for New Year's.”

Sealand smirked at Sweden and winked at Finland, happily declaring, “Then its a date!”


	8. Chapter 8

The placemat fell to the floor with a soft swish and Sweden spun to glare at his son, who was standing in the doorway of the dining room, attempting to look entirely innocent and failing miserably.

“What did you say” Sweden asked sternly, watching Sealand shift back and forth on his heels.

“I said that Latvia invited me over tonight to watch the New Year’s fireworks and spend the night at his place,” Sealand repeated with forced nonchalance before giving Sweden his best puppy eyes and pleading pout, “and I really wanna go, Papa. It would be so cool to show Latvia my awesome Viking gear and hang out doing guy stuff!”

Sweden finished setting down the last placemat, dusting it off before he put crossed his arms over his chest and returned Sealand’s puppy eyes with his own not-impressed-parent-stare.

“Finland is coming over for New Year’s Eve and you were the one that invited him. Don’t you think you should be here?” Sweden reminded Sealand, feeling his irritation spike at the sight of Sealand’s lips twitching into a mischievous smirk. Those rarely boded well for him these days.

“But, Papa, I invited him for you!” Sealand said, his smirk now full blown. He winked at an increasingly uncomfortable Sweden, drawling,  
“Don’t you ever want to spend any alone time with him?”

Sweden did not wish to discuss any alone time he may or may not have wanted to spend with Finland with his son, and at any rate, he had his ever lingering doubts that Finland wanted to be alone with him.

Sweden took a deep breath, trying to regain his patience as he sat down heavily in one of the chairs at the dining room table, absently admiring the new place settings he had bought for the occasion and explained, “I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t think Finland wants to spend New Year’s Eve with just me.”

Though he had tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, Sweden had a sneaking suspicion that his attempt had failed when Sealand sat down across from him, fiddling with one of the neatly folded napkins until Sweden swatted at his busy hands, and sighed as though Sweden were a particularly difficult math problem.

“I think that you worry way too much, Papa. I mean, really, every time you’ve asked Finland if he wanted to come hang out or do something he’s always seemed pretty happy to be asked to me,” Sealand pointed out and Sweden didn’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed that his twelve year old was apparently so perceptive.

 _Could it be true?_ Sweden dared to wonder as he thought about Finland’s recent easy friendliness, questioning whether or not it had been his own unwillingness to shake their so recently rocky boat that had kept him from Finland’s company.

“But you’ve been the one doing the asking,” Sweden countered, feeling slightly surreal that he was having this conversation at all, as he looked at the clock and thought of all the things that he could be doing to get dinner preparations ready in time rather than debating Finland’s feelings for him. He spent enough time doing that in his own head.

Sealand rolled his eyes dramatically and scoffed, “Only because you’re too scaredy cat to do it! Look, Papa, while I am the Mighty Sealand and also totally awesome, don’t you think he might want to hang out with you too?”

Sweden groaned, “I think you’ve been spending too much time with Uncle Denmark, _Mighty and Awesome Sealand_.”

Said Mighty Sealand just smiled brightly and pushed back from the table, “Uncle Denmark would also say that you’ll never get it if you don’t go for it! So….can I go to Latvia’s tonight? Pleeaaaaaaaasssse?”

Sweden stood up as well, moving around the table to clasp Sealand on the shoulder, eyeing him with affectionate exasperation, “Make you a deal. Never give me Danish advice again AND stay for dinner, and you can go to Latvia’s after if someone will come pick you up.”

“Deal! Thank you, Papa! You are the most awesome of the awesome!” Sealand shouted and threw his arms around Sweden’s waist squeezing him tightly for a quick moment before he flew out of the room, already texting furiously.

Alone again, Sweden looked at his table, so carefully put together for the holiday celebration, thinking about the dishes already cooking on the stove, and trying not to dwell on his anticipation and nervous excitement.

Now they were to be alone, no more teenaged or familial buffer, just he and Finland and the last waning hours of the year.

Finland’s eyes were wide and his voice impressed as he walked into the dining room and smiled at his two smartly dressed hosts, handing over a bottle of champagne to Sweden and Hanatamago to a very pleased Sealand, “Wow, everything looks so amazing, you two! Look at all this food! And a table with candles!”

“Papa did it all!” Sealand informed Finland proudly, squirming as Hanatamago tried to paint his face with kisses.

Sweden looked away when Finland smiled at him and said, “Well, he certainly did a very good job!”

“Sit, sit,” he mumbled, gesturing to the chair next to his own, as he shuffled towards the kitchen with the bottle of wine, letting Sealand entertain their guest while he stood staring blankly into the depths of his refrigerator trying not to think about how lovely Finland looked in his blue button down with the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the soft whiteness of his wrists.

He was going to need some of that champagne before the night was over.

When he returned to the table he found Sealand talking animatedly at Finland, who turned and looked up at Sweden with a bright grin and a thrill in his voice when he said, “Seems that Sealand here wants to know about your Golden Age. So what do you say, Sweden, how about dinner and a story?”

Sweden held Finland’s gaze, wondering he if he, too, felt the instantaneous warming in his blood as the first memories of those fleeting years of power and pride filtered through his mind, skin tingling, heart racing as he cast his mind back.

"With pleasure,” Sweden answered lowly, missing the spark of heat in Finland’s eyes as he took his seat and faced his eager son.

  
 _Breitenfelt, September 17th, 1631_

The late summer sun was warm and the ground beneath his feet felt firm and dry as Sweden stood by his king’s side and looked out over their army, Swedes and Finns and allied Germans, standing side by side in glistening armor with weapons at the ready, all rapt with tightly coiled anticipation for the battle that was to come. Infantry, cavalry, and artillery, each man waiting under the midday sunshine for the final signal to ready themselves for to fight. It was a sight to behold, an image burned with pride in Sweden’s heart.

Standing by this great man who he so admired, King Gustavus Aldolphus, Sweden’s whole being thrummed with potential of what the day could bring. It was his right and his honor to share this incipient time of his empire with the monarch who had so transformed his nation, who had seen the potential in the blood and bone of his people and had taken them to so many shores and through so many fights, up until this very moment.

“We will win this day, I promise you,” King Gustav spoke with a confidence that poured down Sweden’s spine, hardening his resolve as they watched their troops make the final assembly for battle.

Sweden nodded solemnly as he placed his hand over the King’s, binding them together in the solemn union of nation and leader. Thanks to his King, his nation was no longer beholden to the whims of the Danes, their territory had grown to touch over the Baltic seas, making him strong and steady and Sweden knew there was nowhere he would not follow this man, no order he would not execute.

“For God and for Sweden,” the King murmured before he dropped his hand and strode away towards the Finnish light horse brigade, with whom he would be riding personally today and Sweden’s chest swelled with the thought of the honor his liege was bestowing upon Finland.

He stared across the shining sea of men to watch Finland astride his horse, catching his gaze and holding it steady as they had one last silent parlay before the chaos of battle. His heart thrummed with the connection between them as nations, as men, as warriors, prouder than he had ever been to have Finland be his first, his most important, and his most beloved part of his growing empire, to be one of his pillars of strength. He would hold that true in his heart no matter what the outcome of today, no matter what noble dared to question Finland’s value.

For these endless campaigns against the Poles, against the Danes, the Estonians and the Russians had not only brought Sweden land and prestige but they had transformed his trembling and fearful little territory into a new man. Gone was his cringing and his refusal to look Sweden in the eyes when they spoke; with each battle they took together, Finland’s confidence and assurance blossomed, riding with grace and unexpected power with his own people, who repeatedly proved themselves admirable members of Sweden’s increasingly great army.

As he held Finland’s gaze, burning bright with excitement and determination, Sweden recalled the sharp pang of desire he had felt the first time Finland had unhesitatingly raised eyes free of fear to meet his, the first time he laid his hand on Finland’s side and felt no frightened twitch of tension. He had taken the memories with him to bed each night, stoking the flames of his secret longing.

With every step they took under the guidance of his King, Sweden’s hope grew stronger; deepening his long-cherished belief that in the wake of all their shared successes, Finland would come to love him in return, to want to be his consort. And, he believed, when such a blessed thing finally happened, together they would surpass all those who had come before…Denmark and Norway, Poland and Lithuania…and the world would know of Sweden’s power.

As the horns sounded and the drums rumbled, calling them away to battle, Sweden tilted his head in farewell, breaking their impassioned stare, turning away to join his own men, readying to meet their fate.

Six hours later and the Imperial army lay crushed beneath the claws of the Lion of the North, defenses entirely broken, and Sweden felt in his soul that on this battlefield his empire had truly been born. His army had managed what no other had in these many years of war: the near complete destruction of the Imperial forces. He looked on with fearsome pride at the countless standards of the defeated armies that now sat before him, a testament to the innovative and courageous greatness of Gustav’s battalions.

The sensation of victory, of nascent power overtook him entirely. It felt as heady and triumphant as those long ago memories of the glories of Cnut or Margaret—but this, this victory was even sweeter, a latent strength rushing through his blood, intoxicating and potent as never before.

For now it was his king, his people, his nation standing in proud conquest, and it felt as though in this moment there was nothing in the world Sweden could not have.

  
“Wow,” Sealand exhaled, breathless as Sweden fell silent, “you are so badass, Papa! And you, too, Finland. So fucking cool!”

Still staring intensely at Finland, who was staring back at him with an unfamiliar look in his eyes, Sweden halfheartedly replied, “Language.”

His body was tense with the thick and persuasive feeling of remembered power, the memories of those long fought for moments of indomitability and limitless potential still coursing through his mind, making him heavy with wanting.

 _I will have to forgive Denmark now_ , Sweden thought ruefully as he forcibly restrained himself from striding across the room to caress Finland’s exposed collarbone, desperately wondering if Finland felt half of the pull that he did, unsure of what he wanted the answer to that question to be.

Finland kept his hooded and unreadable gaze on Sweden even as he settled back into the couch cushions, dinner having long been finished, the three men retreating to the comfort of the living room fire as Sweden had spun his tale of victory.

“The Battle of Breitenfelt is what brought your father into his Golden Age. It was an amazing moment; there is no describing how it felt.” Finland murmured, his voice unexpectedly low and gravelly, causing Sweden’s pulse to jump.

Sealand nodded and opened his mouth to doubtless ask another question of his distracted and disoriented storytellers only to be interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell, startling all of them out of their history induced haze.

“Woo! That’s my ride over to Latvia’s!” Sealand shrieked as he jumped up from his cushion on the floor, giving his father and Finland cursory hugs before he ran to collect his things.

Sweden shifted out of his chair as well, standing to hug Sealand properly and reminding him to call at midnight so they could wish each other a happy New Year.

“Be good,” Sweden mumbled into his son’s hair even as Sealand squirmed in his embrace, eager to be gone off with his friend.

“I will, I will!” Sealand promised as he made his way to the door, hurriedly saying, “Thanks for coming over for dinner, Finland! And, Papa, you really ARE a badass!”

Sweden smiled in spite of himself, ushering Sealand out the door as he answered, “Glad to hear it. Have a good time.”

The door shut and then he was alone with Finland in the stillness of his living room, quiet now that Sealand’s exuberance had passed onwards into the night, their silence only broken by the crackling of the fire. Slowly, he made his way back to his armchair, skin prickling with the feeling of Finland’s stare, which never left him once as he crossed the room. Sweden swallowed as he settled back down, heart in his throat and desire in his blood as he finally looked up to meet Finland’s piercing gaze.

Finland shifted forward, cradling his chin in his hands, eyes glittering in the firelight as he murmured in that same low, gravel voice that raked the coals of Sweden’s yearning, “You didn’t tell him the whole story.”

Sweden’s body tensed with lust and barely suppressed longing, pants tightening as he remembered what had happened in those moments after the battle, a shiver running down his spine as he replied, “I did not.”

Finland kept his gaze steady and Sweden felt his cock grow hard as he watched Finland’s tongue dart out and lick his lips that were curled into a sly, dangerous smile. A smile he had not seen in centuries.

And then Finland spoke once more, a dirty whisper of a command:

“Tell it to me.”


	9. Chapter 9

For a long moment Sweden sat in silent shock, listening only to the incredible racing of his heart, pounding in his ears as he tried to process what Finland had just asked of him.

“Seriously?” He choked out, reaching for his glass of wine with a nervous hand, swallowing deeply when Finland's expression stayed unwavering in its intent.

“I want to remember,” Finland sighed as he continued to inch forward on the couch, slowly, slowly bringing them closer together.

Sweden closed his eyes, loath to lose the sight of Finland sprawled on his couch, loose with desire, but unable to look at him and continue his story. Eyes shut, he let himself fall back into that moment of pure, unrestrained triumph, letting the long-secreted and oft-revisited memories pour forth.

 _Drunk with the euphoria of his people's victory, their unbridled pride and power humming in his heart, Sweden left his audience with King Gustav, having hurriedly left his most cordial wishes for Chancellor Oxentierna, forgoing formality and politeness in his burning need to see the one who most deserved to share this moment with him. The crowds of soldiers parted for him as he moved confidently towards his tent, leaving his armor with one of the serving boys, thinking only of once again setting his eyes on his most beloved._

 _He parted the folds of his tent, inhaling sharply as he finally took in the sight he had much longed for since the battle had concluded, for there stood Finland, beautiful in his victorious joy and stocking feet, blood streaked down the pale skin of his throat._

 _And when Finland looked at him with eyes burning bright and cheeks flushed with happy exhaustion, Sweden could not keep his legs from carrying him across this last field of engagement to run his finger through the dried track of red on his precious skin, smudging the mark as his thumb pressed downwards._

 _And though he knew that this was another man's blood, a badge of prowess, that Finland was still untouched and unharmed in his loveliness, Sweden could not help but murmur, “Alright?”_

 _He felt Finland's answering chuckle under the palm of his hand, throat moving beneath his fingers, calling to his desire as Finland covered his large and war scarred hand with his own smaller palm etched with callouses that spoke of their many centuries together. Sweden moved closer, feeling the heat grow between their bodies as Finland tilted his head to look up at him with knowing and eager eyes, and saying proudly,_

“We won! We are magnificent.”

Sweden's eyes flew open at the sudden weight in his lap and the warm voice in his ear that was sending little shock waves of pleasure across his skin, snapping out of the reverie to find Finland settled across his legs holding one of his hands against his throat.

Instinctively, without thought, his other hand settled possessively over Finland's hip, even as he opened his mouth to ask what in the hell (or heavens) was going on here. Before he could do so Finland leaned forward, rocking against his now wickedly hard cock, startling him back into silence.

“Historical reenactment. For accuracy,” Finland murmured, breath hot and wet against his ear, before he rocked back with another teasing roll of his hips and gently removed the glasses from Sweden's face.

Sweden's mind struggled to catch up to his body, his better sense and his fear trying to scream over his lust that he should stop this now, that it was happening too fast, that this was all a reaction to feelings that Finland once had that were now dead and gone, but Finland was heavy and delicious in his lap and every touch he bestowed spoke of wanting. It was too much to deny.

“Keep going,” Finland whispered, “Tell me what happens next.”

Sweden tried to find his voice again, unsurprised when it came out thick and laden with desire, hands clutching at Finland's slowly shimmying waist, “For the first time in nearly four hundred years you said **we**. And I just couldn't help it anymore...and...Christ, stop moving if you want me to keep talking!”

Finland's answering laugh was dirty and Sweden wanted to listen to it for the next four hundred years, his own hips rising to meet Finland's naughty little wriggling.

“And then you kissed me for the first time and I could taste victory and power on your tongue,” Finland whispered before he pressed their lips together, breaking something inside of Sweden as he melted under the soft warmth of Finland's gentle kiss, the playful taunting touch of his tongue as the kiss deepened, just like it had all those years ago.

He growled when Finland pulled away, before taking in the wild desire written in the red of his mouth and the glaze of his eyes.

“Then what?” Finland asked breathlessly, running his hand under Sweden's shirt, lightly dragging his nails along the seam of his pants, making Sweden moan and arch upwards.

“I pushed you down onto the table,” Sweden grunted out between leaving hurried kisses on Finland's neck and under his jaw.

Finland sighed happily and let his weight fall against Sweden's lap, letting him feel his hardness as he continued, “Right on top of the maps. I always did wonder if you did that on purpose. Conquering me for the first time on top of a picture of your slain enemies.”

Sweden didn't respond, threading his fingers through Finland's hair to kiss him again, wary even in his fevered state of trying to answer such a question, holding Finland tight against his chest and weaving their bodies together until he felt the telltale vibrations of laughter against his own chest.

Worried that he had done something wrong, fearing that this was all a cruel ruse, he broke away from the kiss enough to let Finland murmur nearly against his lips, “Remember how we both came within a minute? We were so innocent.”

Relieved and also reflectively embarrassed, Sweden hummed in agreement, though he decided not to tell Finland for just how long he had been having decidedly not innocent thoughts prior to their furious fumbling on top of the map of the Holy Roman Empire.

His worry returned when Finland slid off of his lap until he reached out a hand in invitation, winking as he said, “Thank goodness we've gotten smarter since then.”

Sweden scrambled to stand up and pull Finland back into his embrace, not wanting to let go for a second lest Finland come back to his senses. Finland just laughed and kissed him again, stretching up so far on his tiptoes that his feet left the ground and Sweden gathered him up and started shuffling backwards.

“Do you remember those days, Sweden?” Finland asked as he dragged one of his legs up Sweden's, pressing their cocks together again, his small smile promising wicked things to come.

“God, yes,” Sweden confessed as they moved in an awkward tangle of limbs and greedy hands towards his bedroom.

He started when Finland bit down abruptly on the thick cords of his shoulder, licking a trail up to his ear before whispering, “Westphalia.”

Flooded with the memories of the way in which he and Finland had celebrated the treaty, Sweden shoved Finland up against the hallway wall, kissing him deeply as he swallowed Finland's answering moan.

 _Fuck, how they had wanted each other in those days, flushed with grandeur and righteousness, Sweden the new power in Europe, every moment feeling like he could never be touched by another, that nothing could ever be sweeter than this._

When Finland's hands started moving to his belt and zipper, Sweden broke their embrace, running his thumb possessively over his kiss stained lips, letting him slide back down to the floor before he pulled them both into his bedroom. Without glasses and in the low light, Sweden fumbled as he reached for Finland's shirt, unable to get his impatient hands to find purchase on the buttons.

“Let me,” Finland mumbled as he unceremoniously tugged the shirt over his head and started to shuck off his pants. Sweden stepped closer, wishing for his glasses so that he could see Finland's delicious naked body without smudged edges and blurred lines. He was so distracted by trying to memorize every revealed inch of Finland's skin that he merely bent down and lifted his arms when Finland pulled the shirt over his head and reached for his pants.

“Do you need more motivation,” Finland teased while dotting his chest with hot open mouthed kisses, undoing the zipper. Groaning as Finland's nimble fingers dipped under his underwear to touch feather light and cruel against the head of his cock, Sweden pushed him away long enough to shove his pants down and off before gathering him back against his chest, naked, warm and wonderful.

“Mmhmm,” Finland hummed appreciatively as they met again in a dirty, wet kiss, reaching up to brush their hardness together, causing Sweden to jerk forward and grab desperately at his arms.

He wondered exactly when it was that Finland had become such a fucking temptation, so wanton and unrestrained when he pulled away and moved backwards towards the expanse of the bed, lips curving upwards as he speared Sweden with a look he'd certainly never seen before.

“Roskilde,” Finland said and Sweden let the name echo across the room, resounding in his blood, his breath coming hard and fast as he was overtaken by images of

 _Denmark, defeated and humbled before him as signed away his power, finally acknowledging Sweden's superiority._

 _and_

 _Finland on his hands and knees, panting and begging as Sweden took him from behind in the splendor of his great chamber among all the riches of his kingdom._

“Fuck,” Sweden groaned as his crossed the room to take Finland's face between his palms, bending down to kiss him messily as he moaned against his mouth, “Is that how you want it?”

Finland said nothing, only turning over and crawling up the bed, resting his forearms on one of Sweden's pillows and spreading his knees, breath coming in quick and shallow. Sweden swallowed as he ran his hand up and down Finland's side, disbelieving fingers tracing between his legs, cock aching at the needy, broken sound Finland gave in response.

Not wanting to forgo the opportunity to touch Finland for a moment, Sweden rushed to his bedside table, hurriedly palming the lube, one of the many things that made the modern age so much better than the past, before returning to feast his senses on the sight of the long and smooth lines of Finland's back. Finland rocked back into his hand as he stroked his palm along the still familiar dips and curves of his ass, pressing two fingers into his warm and welcoming body as he bent down to press reverent and happy kisses along the ridges of his spine.

Sweden had every intention of trying to savor the moment, to draw this out as long as possible, to tease Finland with his fingers and maybe his tongue until he was so satisfied he would never dream of leaving his bed again, only to find his every good intention paving the road to Hell when Finland slammed backwards and moaned,

 _“Dominium maris baltici.”_

The long dormant Lion of the North roared in mind, domination and power raging in his blood and Sweden couldn't restrain himself from crowding up against Finland's slick skin and pushing inside, reveling in the hot, tight, return to this place he had once thought he would always belong. Finland shuddered and let his head fall to the pillow and Sweden stroked a possessive hand through his sweaty hair, flooded with the remembered feeling of invincibility, of being the the only who mattered, of those days when it he sat atop Europe with Finland at his side.

He came back to himself as Finland moaned when they rocked together, the bed creaking and Sweden wished it were daytime or that he had turned on the light so he could see the Finland's parted, panting lips and the sheen of sweat on his skin. He felt the quiver in Finland's thighs and the answering tightness in his own body, sparing a thought that this encounter wasn't going to last much longer than that very first time in a battlefield in Germany.

Sweden wrapped an arm around Finland's middle, offering support for his shaking arms, pulling him up to rest astride his knees. He opened his mouth to accept Finland's desperate, seeking kiss, rolling his hips up in short, aborted, movements and reaching down to stroke Finland's cock. Sweden held him tight, feeling his own desperate need grow undeniable as he ran his palm up and down, wanting Finland to come first, trying with all that remained of his control to stave off his own orgasm.

He pulled away to whisper raggedly in Finland's ear, “hakkapeliitta,” gratified when Finland gasped and came over his fingers with a long sigh as his head fell back against Sweden's shoulder. Closing his eyes and biting down gently on Finland's neck, Sweden let himself go, pleasure overcoming every sensation as he followed Finland in orgasm.

Only moments later they collapsed in a heap on the bed, Sweden pressed against Finland's back as they breathed together in sticky satiation. As the haze of bliss receded enough for rational thought to return, Sweden stayed entirely still, worried that now Finland would remember where he was and what he was doing with whom and leave. He felt his heart twist when Finland started to shift under him and Sweden immediately rolled over, giving Finland his freedom.

To his happy surprise, Finland leaned over and smiled at him, favoring him with an all too fleeting kiss before he slid off the bed and wobbled towards the bathroom. Sweden rubbed a finger over his lips, letting their swelling convince him that this did indeed just happen. He opened his arms with ready joy when Finland climbed back on to the bed, dragging up a blanket to cover their naked skin before he tucked his head under Sweden's chin, settling his cheek on his chest. Sweden moved quickly to wrap an arm around Finland's shoulders, running his fingers through the strands of Finland's hair, listening to the soft exhale of his breath as he gave into satisfied sleep.

Sweden woke only a short time later to the insistent ringing of the phone to find Finland disentangling himself from their embrace to reach for the phone on the bedside table. Sweden tried to regain consciousness, distracted by the warm slide of Finland's skin against his own, a waking dream as Finland thrust the offending object into his hand.

“Hello?” Sweden mumbled, voice still thick with sleep, though he was slowly waking thanks to the teasing little circles Finland was tracing over his chest.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR, PAPA!” Sealand's ecstatic voice shattered the dark quiet of the room, making both Sweden and Finland sit up with surprise.

Sweden's face softened as he looked at the clock, red lights shining out that it was 12:01am.

“Happy New Year, Sealand,” Sweden murmured affectionately before surrendering the phone to Finland's insistent hands.

“Happy New Year, Sealand!” Finland echoed as he pressed up against his side, smiling happily, and Sweden hoped that the old adage held true, that this would be the way he would spend the rest of his year.

He took the phone back, mind going momentarily blank when Sealand asked him excitedly, “Finland's still there? That's awesome! I told you it would go well! What have you been doing?”

Sweden looked down at his naked body and the wrecked state of his bed, hemming and hawing before he managed to mumble, “Um, we've just been reminiscing.”

He had to hold a hand over Finland's mouth to keep Sealand from hearing his peals of answering laughter to Sealand's sweet, naïve response of, “Don't do too much of that without me!”

“Go have fun now, Sealand,” Sweden said quickly, “thanks for calling and see you tomorrow.”

“You mean later today!” Sealand chirped before they said their goodbyes and Sweden set the phone down with relief, slumping back against the pillows and letting Finland loom over him, propped on one arm.

“He's a good kid.”

“I'm lucky,” Sweden answered with a happy heart as he threaded his fingers through Finland's, still amazed that this was happening.

Finland brushed a kiss across his brow, murmuring, “He's lucky, too.”

Sweden said nothing, not trusting his own voice in the still perfection of the moment. He simply let Finland continue to run his lips over his cheeks and chin, reveling in the attention.

“You'll have to tell him all about the great things we did in those Golden Years.” Finland said softly and Sweden bit his lip, trying to ignore his insecurities as he risked enough to gaze up at Finland and ask:

“You could stay and help me do that.”

Finland sighed and slid down to rest his head in the crook of Sweden's neck, hiding his face from Sweden's searching stare, answering, “I can't. I have to go home tomorrow to celebrate with my people and I can't leave my work for long these days.”

Sweden tried to stem his tide of disappointment, wondering what it was that had Finland so tied up in knots, “What's going on?”

“Don't worry about it,” Finland said shortly and Sweden felt his body go tense against his side and he rushed to try to make it better, hurriedly asking if there was anything he could do to help.

“Oh, Sweden,” Finland sighed before he laughed lightly and said, “don't ruin the mood.”

Sweden stilled and closed his eyes, wondering what it meant that Finland would share his body but not his worries, choosing to say nothing for fear of it all going horribly wrong.

For a moment they laid together in silence before Sweden felt Finland's fingers tickling up the skin of his thigh, skating dangerously close to his once again stirring desire.

“Wanna reminisce again before I have to go home?”

Sweden opened his eyes to see Finland smiling down at him, eyes bright with lust and mischief, and he decided that if he could have this much, all he needed to do was prove himself once again and he would have access to all the hidden territories of Finland's heart.

“God, yes,” he growled and rolled them both over as Finland's happy laughter echoed off his bedroom walls.


	10. Chapter 10

When he woke the next morning, Sweden blearily wondered why his back was so warm and yet his chest was so cold, with the exception of the band of heat wrapped around his arm. It took him a long, sleepy, moment to figure out that he front was chilled because he was naked and someone had managed to steal the blanket off of him during the night. That someone was also the comforting source of warmth, the hot press of another body curled against his back, the feeling of the rise and fall of steady breathing trying to lull him back into sleep. It was, without doubt, the best wake-up he had experienced in ages, even with the suspicious lack of covers.

Slowly,Sweden opened his eyes to the gray light of the first winter morning of the new year, the pale light filtering through the window and the chill in the room making him want to burrow down into the indulgent softness of this bed and this embrace for hours. It seemed that during their restless night, Finland had come to be holding him, stretched against his back with one hand tucked under his arm and his cold feet nestled between Sweden's calves. All this and the unmistakable presence of morning arousal resting against the small of his back brought Sweden fully into his senses. He felt his own desire stir lazily, in spite of their activities of not very many hours ago, his heart and his dick were too enamored by the unexpected privilege of being able to touch someone so long yearned for to consider forgoing such an opportunity as this.

Gently, he nudged Finland to roll over on to his back, watching hazily as Finland's eyes fluttered while he sighed, still dreaming even as his body tented the sheets below. He slid a leg between Finland's, letting his thigh graze against the flushed skin of his cock, amused and turned on by Finland's little murmur of a moan. He traced his fingers over the small curls at the ends of his hair, a gift from falling into bed still dripping wet after their hurried and steamy late night shower, before running his thumb down to brush against Finland's parted lips, skin heated from the exhalation of his breath. He pressed fleeting kisses to his forehead and cheeks, wanting to touch his lips to the almost translucent fan of his eyelashes, but loathed the possibility breaking the fragility of the moment too greatly to risk it.

There were other ways he wanted Finland to awake; wanting to draw him out from his dreams the same way he once dared many centuries ago.

He shifted his knee again as he trailed his hand down from its mapping of Finland's lovely face to dip beneath the sheets and paint circles over the soft skin of his hip, nuzzling into Finland's neck to feel the little rumbles of sleepy pleasure in his throat. He smiled into his secret hiding place when the sheets shifted as Finland's legs fell open and he felt five fingers intertwine with his own and his hand was dragged down to rest over a hard cock.

Sweden opened his mouth against Finland's neck, letting his tongue taste the sleepy heat of his skin, and wrapped their joined hands around Finland's dick, using his thumb to spread the wetness at the tip before stroking down once. The sound of Finland's sharp moan echoing in the stillness of the morning thrummed in his ears and through his veins as he let his hips rock into Finland, his own arousal rubbing against his thigh. Finland urged their hands to go faster as he arched into the strokes, giving Sweden the delicious friction he sought as he closed his eyes and focused only on the sound of Finland's sighs and gasps and the feel of their skin sliding together under the warmth of the sheets.

Without warning, Sweden found himself being pushed onto his back, a mussed and debauched Finland scrambling on top of him, letting the sheets fall from his back to reveal his flushed skin to Sweden's eager eyes as he rocked their hips together and moaned obscenely. Arching up into the touch, Sweden let Finland join their hands once again and bring them down to stroke quickly and and firmly over their cocks, leaning up to bite at the pale expanse of Finland's chest, suddenly desirous of leaving more evidence of his lust and love on his body.

As Finland controlled the movements of their joined hands, eyes closed and mouth open, Sweden used his other hand to trace the light red mark on his neck; the shape of his desire that he had etched with his teeth and tongue the night before, imagining Finland alone in his house, touching the same spot as he looked in the mirror and remembered all the wonderful things that they had done to each other. Remembering him.

The intensity fantasy took him over the edge as he shuddered and came over their hands; immediately wishing he could be hard again as he cracked open his eyes to watch Finland finish himself off between the slick slide of their still joined fingers, only pulling them away to let his come fall in hot stripes across Sweden's stomach.

After a moment of taut stillness, Finland collapsed to the side of him, absently wiping his hand on the sheet, sighing happily and wriggling in close as he murmured into Sweden's still tingling skin, “Good morning.”

Figuring that his sheets were now definitely destined for a trip to the wash, he followed suit and cleaned himself off before he rolled over to face his bed-mate, trying to contain the fluttering in his stomach as he took in Finland's easy smile and flushed cheeks.

“Mmmm,” Finland exhaled as his eyes closed again, “that is definitely much better than the alarm clock I everyday.”

Sweden bit down on the urge to tell him that if he stayed, he would make sure that Finland spent all his mornings thisas happy.

Instead, he kissed the crown of Finland's head and asked, “Breakfast before you go?”

“Yes, please! I'll just take a quick shower and come down,” Finland returned with obvious pleasure and Sweden forced his body to leave the tempting warmth of the bed, hurriedly throwing on pants and a shirt and doing a half-assed job of brushing his teeth before wandering downstairs in search of his glasses.

He found them by the side of his armchair and he paused to remember the feeling of Finland straddling his lap, never more grateful for his century of world domination or Sealand's enthusiasm for his history for making such a thing possible. His footsteps were so light and his heart so full that he didn't even mind the mess that they had abandoned on the dining room table: cold food and discarded napkins and a half-finished bottle of champagne.

He minded the disaster he had left in the kitchen even less when he felt the warm press of Finland against his back as he stood at the coffee pot, reveling in the quiet peace of standing in his kitchen wrapped in what felt like a lover's embrace.

Slowly, he turned in Finland's arms, holding out a steaming cup, swallowing as his libido spiked thanks to the alluring sight of Finland wearing one of his black undershirts, which was hanging off the bones of his shoulders in its largeness even as the shirt came half way down his thighs.

“I hope you don't mind,” Finland said with a knowing smile as he gazed at Sweden, “I could deal with putting on my good pants, but for some reason I just couldn't handle wearing yesterday's wrinkled dress shirt.”

Sweden reached out a hand to caress his exposed collarbone, fingers dipping beneath the wide neck of the shirt to skate over the dip under his throat, murmuring lowly, “Don't mind at all.”

“Good,” Finland said before he brought their lips together in slow, lingering kiss and Sweden was about to put the coffee down on the counter so he could hold Finland properly with both hands when Finland pulled back and wrapped his own hand around the mug, smiling softly.

Sweden looked at him, wearing his clothes, drinking his coffee and standing in his kitchen as if he belonged there and was unable to stop himself from asking, “Do you have to go? Stay with me today.”

Instantly, Finland's expression cooled as he took a step away and said, “I can't. You know that. I have to get back to the thousand things that need my attention.”

Selfishly, Sweden wanted to know if he now merited a place on that list of thousand things, wondering if a night of sex entitled him to an expectation of attention. He also desperately wanted to know how to avoid continually building this wall of tension between them.

Instead he settled for serving breakfast, relieved when food seemed to turn Finland's mood playful once again, as evidenced by the socked foot currently trying to worm its way up his pant leg. Sweden was about to lean across the table to kiss the smirk off of Finland's face when he jumped back, startled by the banging of the front door and Sealand's brash shout of, “THE MIGHTY SEALAND HAS RETURNED!”

Finland laughed into his hand, choking on his toast while Sweden rolled his eyes fondly and hollered in return, “In here!”

Within seconds, Sealand came crashing through the door, wild-eyed and rumpled from obvious lack of sleep, mouth falling open as he noticed that he was not alone with his Papa. Sweden tried not to squirm when Sealand spun towards him with his gaping mouth starting to curve upwards in a sly smile.

“Happy New Year, Sealand,” Finland interjected, saving Sweden from the shame of being checked over by his own kid.

Just as ready to answer the beck of Finland's call as his Papa, Sealand immediately turned to give Finland a cheery hello and a dazzling grin. Finland smiled back at Sealand and Sweden loved them both so dearly in that moment he thought he might not recover from it.

“So,” Sealand said as he helped himself to one of Sweden's pieces of toast, “I hope you didn't do too much fun remembering without me!”

Finland bit his lip and his eyes danced with amusement as he assured Sealand, “No, we wouldn't do that to you! Especially not with all the cool stories we have to tell from the Golden Age!”

“Like what?!” Sealand demanded, spraying crumbs across the table as he spoke. Sweden made a note to inform Sealand that his New Year's Resolution was going to be learning some manners.

Happily, Finland graciously ignored this as he stood from the table and answered nonchalantly, “Oh, you know, like your dad and I building a house in America.”

Sealand went quiet with surprise, obviously still trying to process such a revelation of badassery, while Finland winked at Sweden and started to collect his things, including his discarded dress shirt. Sweden pulled Sealand out of his chair so they could both follow Finland to the front door and bid him farewell.

The short walk seemed to snap Sealand out of his stupor as he grabbed at Finland's wrist, eagerly asking, “Did you really?”

“We sure did!” Finland said with a proud smile that stirred the embers of Sweden's desire.

“Hmm, how about you come visit me in Turku next weekend? I'll tell you all about our adventures in America and give you a tour of one of my favorite places, which also owes itself to that golden time!” Finland offered to a very enthused Sealand.

“I am so there,” Sealand promised, practically salivating with anticipation.

Sweden shifted when Finland turned his eyes to him, bright with mischief and a lingering hint of lust, saying, “You can bring this guy with you, too, I guess.”

“How kind,” Sweden said, voice playfully disappointed as he rolled his eyes skyward.

Finland laughed at him before giving Sealand a quick hug. Sweden tried not to blush when Finland reached up to wrap his arms around his neck and whispered in parting, “Besides, I have to give you back your shirt.”

  
“Soooo....are you guys dating now?” Sealand asked with obvious relish as soon as Finland's car had left the driveway.

As he ushered them both back into the warmth of the house, Sweden tried to puzzle that one out. _Dating. Was that the right word for nations who had been together, (whether by choice or not), for hundreds of years and then separated for another few hundred of years, only to form a shaky relationship based on unrequited love and hesitant affection before having spontaneous and ungodly hot sex one night but without really talking about anything? Did that qualify as dating?_

“Its complicated,” Sweden settled for as an adequate response, ignoring Sealand's exaggerated sigh and subsequent pout.

“Everything is complicated with you! So lame!”

Even though he couldn't really deny the truth behind that statement, Sweden still asked, keeping his voice light and teasing so as not to betray any of his own doubts and insecurities, “And what would you recommend I do, Oh-Mighty-Sealand?”

“Duh. Do what they do on T.V. Make some awesome romantic gesture and then profess your undying love,” Sealand said with a huff, clearly surprised that his Papa lacked such basic skills.

“Right,” Sweden said dubiously, even as his imagination started conjuring up various scenarios that might involve the opportunity for sweeping off of feet and declarations of love, as he went to start cleaning up the mess from the night before.


	11. Chapter 11

Sweden had never before been more grateful for Sealand's British roots than when he had insisted that they all wear towels in the sauna. His son had of course been eager to try this activity to which his current favorite person was so devoted, but apparently he drew the line at total nudity in front of his Papa and his Papa's.....date? Boyfriend? Former territory? (Sweden had yet to figure out exactly what was going on between he and Finland, though he had spent a considerable amount of time during the previous week simultaneously trying to puzzle it out and trying not to get hard under his desk when remembering the New Year's festivities.)

It was for this reason, his body's unsettling need to respond like a teenager going through the first blush of attraction every time Finland came within two feet of him, that Sweden was thankful for Sealand's sudden burst of prudishness and insistence that they all wear towels while experiencing, “the awesomeness of Finland's super sweet sauna.”

Finland had only looked bemused, as if he couldn't imagine why anyone would want to wear anything in the sauna, and handed them each a towel before giving Sweden a look that set his blood rushing and mouthing, “later.”

Jesus, Sweden sighed internally, letting the other two go before him into the sauna so as to collect himself enough to be a proper adult in front of his kid. After a moment, he had pushed through the door into the unmistakable dry heat, taking a seat next to Sealand, closing his eyes and trying to remember the last time he had done this.

“This is so cool,” Sealand murmured enthusiastically when Finland let him pour the water over the hot stones, the hissing steam filtering through the air.

“Did you know my people used to give birth in saunas?” Finland explained with evident pride, his happy mood from their tour of the city apparently undiminished.

Sweden kept his eyes closed, letting the low hum of Finland and Sealand's intermittent conversation and the still blanket of air lull him into comfortable silence as his mind wandering through the events of the day, thoughts blending seamlessly with his memories of the past.

Even though it had been bitterly cold, they had spent the morning meandering down the old streets of Turku with Finland as tour guide, excitedly pointing out all the monuments and places that had made this city such an important part of his nation for so many centuries. As they had walked, Sweden tried to recall the last time he had been there, ashamed to realize that it had been so long that he had forgotten that the old university, the one that his Queen had bestowed upon the city during those fleeting years of prosperity and power, had burned to the ground almost two hundred years before.

What he did remember, with startling clarity, was how at the time of the Academy's founding he had felt like such a generous and magnanimous lover, to be able to give Finland such a rich gift. How he wound his arm around Finland's waist and consumed his gratitude without hesitation, without any consideration of what such a place might mean for Finland outside of his own feelings and expectations; which, at the time, he was now chagrined to admit, he truly believed were one and the same.

As they had wandered the halls of the newer universities that had taken the Royal Academy's place, he had wanted to apologize, make some sort of concession, even if 350 years too late, but Finland had just smiled at him as he rubbed his gloved thumb along the inside of Sweden's wrist and told Sealand how proud he had been for his city.

Later, there had been lunch near the beautiful old cathedral and Sweden had sat in contented quietude while Finland enchanted Sealand with tales of their adventures in America. It wasn't difficult to share in Sealand's wide-eyed enjoyment, listening to the cheerful lilt of Finland's chatter as he tried to impress upon Sealand just how impossibly big and limitless the horizon of America once seemed. Finland's tone had gone soft and dreamy when he spoke of the little boy that appeared before them one day, bright eyed and wondering, a tiny personification of all that America would come to be.

He had let Finland's voice dredge up memories of the house they had built together along a winding river in Christiana and how they had reveled in the temporary freedom from court life and responsibilities, living almost as people...

Until Netherlands came and tore their house down, sending them both scurrying back to Sweden with a painful and swift kick of his boot to their asses. Sweden and Finland had both chuckled when Sealand reacted to learning of this old humiliation by swearing to exact mighty vengeance on the Dutchman by spitting in his drink at the next World Meeting.

Absently, as the sweat started to drip down his chest, the sauna making his whole being feel sluggish and slow, Sweden reminded himself to tell Sealand that one did not use bodily fluids as an appropriate means of revenge. Unless one was France.

Throughout their wanderings, Finland had seemed so happy and Sealand so obviously enchanted by both the snow covered town and his enthusiastic guide of living history, that Sweden had shuffled them both together in front of the cathedral and snapped a picture with his phone, already planning to make it his desktop background as soon as they returned home.

And now here they were, sitting and sweating in the silent steam of Finland's personal sauna, each drifting through their own thoughts in peaceful quiet like any other family might. Sweden stilled and cracked open one lazy eye when he felt Finland's fingers shift along the wooden bench to rest lightly over his own, a gentle pressure that set his heart racing.

As he turned his hand over so that their palms were now pressed together, Sweden idly wondered how much time it would be appropriate to wait before he asked Finland to move back in with him, even as a larger part of his brain questioned exactly what he had done to get to this moment and what he needed to do to make sure that it didn't go away. Since no answer seemed readily forthcoming, he did what he always did in unsure situations, and said nothing, letting the confusion settle somewhere underneath the simple pleasure of Finland's touch.

The quiet of the sauna was abruptly shattered by the shrieking ring of a cell phone outside the wooden door, causing them all to sit up and blink into the stifling air.

“Sorry, that's me,” Finland murmured apologetically as his expression immediately went from relaxed to tense and unhappy before he rushed from the sauna to answer his call.

Sealand and Sweden exchanged a worried glance, as this was the third time that their day had been suddenly interrupted by the insistent demands of Finland's phone, and each time their host had gone from happy to harried. Knowing that the moment was now broken, Sweden ushered Sealand out of the sauna, wondering where Finland had gone and who exactly it was that kept stealing away his smile with their repeated phone calls.

The worry nagged at himthroughout dinner, prickling at the back of his mind as remembered how quickly Finland had changed the subject when he had tried to ask, giving him only the barest of hints that it was somehow work related and nothing for anyone else to be concerned with, before falling back into his earlier good cheer. He was so preoccupied with the circles under Finland's eyes and the way his hand would drift towards his pocket, as if unable to keep himself from checking his phone for emails of messages that he said very little throughout the meal, letting Sealand carry the conversation with chatter about evolved plans for the Netherlands' demise.

He was distracted even after Finland had ushered Sealand into one of his guest rooms with a fond goodnight, so distracted that he failed to notice the intention in Finland's fingers as they trailed along the back of his neck when he draped a towel across his shoulders and pointed him the direction of a shower; not even able to properly appreciate the tempting invitation in the sway of Finland's hips as he walked away towards his own bath.

As he wrapped the towel around his waist, Sweden resolved himself to asking exactly what was going on once again, even if he incurred Finland's frustration, feeling it was his duty as date/boyfriend/whatever to be concerned with his date/boyfriend/whatever's problems. He wanted Finland to be happy and safe, determined to make sure that he wouldn't fail him this time around.

Resolution in mind and determination in his spine, Sweden had every intention of going to Finland with his concerns that very moment, only to find that the words died on his tongue when the door to the bathroom suddenly opened and a barely dressed and still flushed Finland shuffled inside with a soft smile and shining eyes.

When Finland reached out and grabbed him by the knot in his towel and murmured, “You're taking forever. Come with me. There's something I've been waiting to show you all day,” all thoughts of serious conversations flew out his mental window.

Dressed only in a towel, hair damp, Sweden let himself be led by a gentle hand through the hallway and up the stairs to a comfortable bedroom that smelled like Finland, wrapping him in intimacy. As he shut the door behind them, Sweden took a moment to appreciate the fact that he had never once been in a bedroom that was Finland's alone, before he padded across the floor, feet making tacking sounds on the wood. He peered over Finland's shoulder to see what it was he could thank for the serene expression on Finland's lovely visage.

Sweden's eyes widened as he watched Finland's finger trace reverently over the worn and faded cover of a large and obviously well loved tome. Finland turned to lean against the desk, facing Sweden as he asked, “This was one memory I thought should be just ours. Do you remember when you gave me this?”

Sweden's throat tightened as his eyes fell on the book resting behind Finland's back, trying to ignore the way Finland's hand was now softly stroking his side as he answered, “The first Finnish Bible. Of course I remember.”

He remembered vividly how he had taken Finland to Turku, all the while carrying his treasure secretly, waiting until they were both in the Turku Cathedral to present him with his mighty gift; how Finland's eyes had gone so large with disbelief and joy he thought he would drown in them; how Finland had held the text with such gratitude and reverence as they both prayed to God to protect them always.

He also remembered how Finland had seemed so devoted to him for the many days after as they traversed the wilds through of Finland's forests taking stock of the new towns and prosperity that had risen up under the steady hand of Per Brahe. Finland had showered him with a seemingly endless tide of smiles and affection, and Sweden felt drunk from the pleasure, counting off in his mind the many things he had managed to bring to Finland's people: land and learning and now the Finnish words of the Lord.

And from Finland, in return, he had wanted only unquestioning loyalty and love.

“That day you gave me something I had forgotten I wanted. I was so happy,” Finland said as he started walking Sweden backwards towards the bed, their legs shuffling together in an awkward tango until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, forcing him to sit, which in turn allowed Finland to slide onto his lap one fluid motion.

Sweden wondered what it was that the Bible had represented to Finland, what secret meaning he had uncovered in the gift; a gift, which Sweden now understood had come with as many strings attached as any other shiny token he had bestowed during the many centuries between Kalmar and Russia.

Ignorance and arrogance and selfish love spinning out in an attempt to bind Finland to him always.

He was determined to do it all differently now that he had such a precious treasure between his fingers once again; this time with no king nor queen to dictate his actions, he was finally free to give his devotion without reservation, without unnecessary expectation.

“We were so happy,” Finland whispered, surprising Sweden with his unexpected and welcome use of “we.” He had not thought that Finland would have wanted to remember that which had made Sweden happy in those days, since much of his happiness had come with a price so frequently exacted from Finland's lands and peoples. He shook away the pessimism as shivers broke out across his skin, focusing instead on spanning his hands across the expanse of Finland's waist and pressing his nose into his hair.

“Glad I made you happy at least once,” Sweden murmured into his neck even as he let Finland push him down to lay flat along the bed, spread out like an offering under the pale light of the bedside lamp.

And then there was no more talking, words and remembrance forgone in favor of touch and taste as they moved together slowly and quietly, two shadows intertwining on the wall.

  
 _He was rushing down the halls of the palace in Stockholm, the servant carrying the tray struggling to keep up with his hurried pace, his footsteps quickened by worry and anger. He had just returned from Livonia, nearly driven to distraction with the evidence that the bastard Denmark had allied himself with Russia, only to receive a sharp rebuke from his King that he ought to keep their territories in line as a welcome._

 _It had been many months, nigh a year, since he had last seen Finland and he had been anxious for their reunion, particularly in light of the occasionally distressing news he had received while away of Finland's troubles. But now he had finally returned only to learn that Finland had turned angry and defiant, even as his health was in danger, making demands of the King and refusing to listen to the King's counsel._

 _Had Finland forgotten that King Charles' power was absolute? That they were beholden to his good orders?_

 _And why, why was Finland endangering himself so recklessly?_

 _He strode into Finland's bedchamber without knocking, prepared to press him for answers, only to have the wind knocked from his lungs at the sight of Finland's emaciated body, clothes hanging from his gaunt limbs, and the piercing stare of his fevered eyes._

 _“Ah, so the Great Sweden returns,” Finland murmured before he turned his back once again and the shame of the dismissal was sharp under Sweden's skin. He took the tray from the servant and bid them away, leaving him alone with this Finland he barely recognized._

 _He took a step forward, reaching out a hand to trace the unnatural jut of Finland's collarbone, horrified by the sickly feeling of his skin, whispering, “What have you done to yourself?”_

 _Finland spun around and knocked his hand off as he growled with barely repressed anger, “My people did not do this to themselves, you fool.”_

 _Sweden swallowed, thinking of the King and the King before him, and their disinterest in the “troubles” of Finland, feeling guilt creep up his throat as he thought of his own distraction, how he had left Finland here with every belief that this was a passing problem that was not to keep him from protecting his assets._

 _Finland looked at him with knowing eyes before laughing derisively and shuffling to sit on the bed, his weakness scratching like barbs at Sweden's conscience. He went to the tray of food, bringing it to Finland's side, feeling his desperation grow when Finland made no move towards it._

 _He crossed his arms, trying to contain his fear and frustration, “The King tells me you refuse to eat. That you refuse to listen.”_

 _Finland snorted, voice dripping with disdain, “And why should I listen when he will not listen to the cries of his subjects? Even if they are not the cries of his beloved Swedes?”_

 _“Because his word is absolute. You know there is no other recourse,” Sweden explained lamely, feeling the excuses burn like poison in his throat._

 _“Have you even tried? No, I don't believe you have. What are tens of thousands of deaths of dirty Finns compared to the threat of Denmark's fleet on your precious shores?” Finland asked bitterly, speaking with such resentment and sorrow that Sweden wondered when it was that the bond he had believed to be so unshakeable between them had broken, how it was that eyes that had once gazed on him with warmth could now look right through him._

 _Fear and hurt made him desperate, made him want to stamp his feet on the cold stone floor and demand that Finland return to how he was before, that he trust in Sweden to lead him through this time as he always had in the past._

 _He shoved a crust of bread under Finland's nose, demanding his attention as he pleaded, “Why do you refuse to eat? Such defiance is unnecessary and dangerous.”_

 _Finland turned to him, something ugly and hateful brimming in his still lovely eyes, answering in a voice that cut Sweden to the quick, “Ah, so you will feed me but not my people? Tell me, Sweden, if I let the King and all his courtiers fuck me, do you think they might then deign to send grain to my shores?”_

 _Shocked by Finland's anger and dismayed by his vulgarity, Sweden took several moments before he responded with low frustration, “How can you say that?”_

 _The sound of Finland's bitter laughter and the scornful twist of his lips set Sweden's nerves on edge as he felt the fraying of his control, something cracking in his heart when Finland answered, “Is that not the reason you are here with your pathetic offering and guilty words?”_

 _And Sweden wanted to shake him by the shoulders and shout that it was because he loved him, that he had believed they were unified in their goals and desires and that Finland would always stand by his side, but instead he choked on his words, feeling somehow that Finland had betrayed him._

 _Filled with worry and guilty anger, wanting him to feel his desperate need for Finland to understand, to know how vitally important he was, Sweden clasped Finland by the wrist, trying to ignore the jagged edges of his bones, barking out, “I could force you.”_

 _In the ensuing silence, as Finland stared at him with tired eyes that suddenly seemed drained of light, Sweden knew that something had changed irrevocably between them, though he could not yet put a name to it. He only knew that a sickness had lodged itself in his stomach, churning viciously as Finland's shoulders tensed and his mouth pursed._

 _“How very absolutist of you,” Finland murmured under his breath and Sweden dropped his wrist in horror, wondering how it was that he come to this point, how they could be so far divided that he had even thought of using his power over Finland to make him acquiesce._

 _Finland looked at him with cold, dead eyes and uttered the last words Sweden was to hear from his lips for many years, dismissive disdain dripping from each word, “If you are not going to force me, my Lord Sweden, then get out. I thank you for your condescension, but by your leave, I think I shall suffer as my people do, starved and ignored by our great masters.”_

Sweden woke with a gasp, eyes flying open to blink rapidly in the dark, breath coming in short and shallow as he tried to shake off the remembered horror and hopelessness of the dream, heart racing as he returned to himself, dredging his mind out of one of the darkest and most shameful hours of his long history. He took deep breaths and let his hands clutch at the warm and heavy weight of Finland draped across his side, running his fingers over his ribs and shoulders to reassure his still reeling mind that this was not 1699 and Finland was not starving to death.

Finland murmured and squirmed under his attentions before sleepily rolling over, trying to inch away from Sweden's needy hands. He fumbled for his glasses, sliding them on to read the clock, knowing that he was now too restless and disturbed to return to sleep.

6:05am.

Gently, he pressed a kiss that still felt of desperation and anxiety to the curve of Finland's neck before shuffling quietly from the bed to make his way to the kitchen, needing light and coffee to calm his nerves. He paced the halls, cursing his subconscious for recalling such a time, that moment when he hadn't known he was standing on the precipice of the steep slide downwards that would come to tear Finland away from his dominion.

Seeking distraction from his troubled thoughts, Sweden paused in the doorway of Finland's office, amazed by the chaotic stacks of paperwork and folders scattered across the desk and the floor, plastered with post-it notes and Finland's scrawling notes. Unable to suppress his curious need to know what it was that was causing Finland so much stress, wanting so badly to have enough insight to be helpful, Sweden permitted himself a cursory look at the documents, justifying this tiny invasion of privacy as something he needed to do to ensure that he was prepared to be a supportive partner.

He refused to be caught off guard ever again.


	12. Chapter 12

Three weeks later Sweden had his own tidy folder of print out articles and internal memos covered in his tiny, precise handwriting carefully filed away in the bottom drawer of his desk; his own little repository of weaponry at the ready to be deployed on Finland's behalf, kept secreted away from Sealand's prying eyes and Sweden's own temptation. He managed not to think of if it most days, kept too busy with the daily grind of politics and spending most of his evenings guiding Sealand through the complex and often painful history of his Eighteenth Century.

He didn't think of it at all on the nights when Finland came over relaxed and full of good cheer, all loose limbs and laughter as they enlightened Sealand with stories over the dinner table or slid together under the sheets. It was only when he picked up the phone to listen to the tense tiredness in Finland's voice, or when he canceled their plans to visit Helsinki because he had to work through the weekend, that Sweden would go sit at his desk and avidly comb through his every growing stash of research, debating whether or not now was the time to act.

But each time, he promised that he would wait a little longer, continuing to keep a clandestine finger on the pulse of Finland's involvement in EU politicking, wanting to make sure that he made the right decision, one that would be to Finland's benefit, one that would make Finland happy.

And so January passed into February with snowy and bitter cold nights spent in front of the fire with the atlas as Sweden told Sealand of all the many wars and failures that led to the slow dismantling of his once great empire. Slowly, he managed to dredge up the painful memory of the ending of his Golden Age through the failures of his monarchs and his own will in the face of Russia, Denmark, Prussia, and even England tearing at his walls and slowly consuming his territories one by one until all that remained was Finland.

He soothed the frown that marred Sealand's disappointed face, and his own remembered sense of shame and frustration, with cups of hot chocolate and reassurances that even though his King had been a proud fool, his people gained many rights as they forced the government away from absolutism towards republicanism.

He did not mention that during these troubled and tumultuous years Finland had ceased speaking with him; ceased living in his home from the moment he recovered enough from his famine to retreat to his own lands and raise the armies that his king demanded, training them to be decisive and indefatigable bands of warriors in spite of his own seething anger towards Sweden. Finland did this even as Sweden and his King ran rampant over his fields and forests as they fought the Russians, his body weakening as ever more of his people died from starvation, the ravages of war, and the loss of so much hard won territory into Russia's open and grasping hands.

He hid away the memories of Finland nearly wan with desperation when his people numbered alarmingly few. He buried the guilt he felt for his own complicity in the way Finland's tired eyes refused to meet his by tucking away these dark thoughts in a tidy little folder in his mind, keeping them from Sealand's view.

Instead, he tried to stay in the present, finding it difficult to fall out of thoughts of those times of dissolution and into Finland's warm and wanting embrace without a little mental and emotional calisthenics. Fortunately, the advent of ubiquitous communication made it so that this present-day Finland who smiled at him and took him to bed was never too far from the front of his mind.

Sweden looked forward to Finland's calls and his seemingly endless stream of text messages, chatty and blithe little snippets of his day that made Sweden ever grateful for the advent of modern technology when he remembered how many weeks, if not months, it could take for a missive to reach him when they had been apart in centuries past. He was especially grateful when Finland introduced him to the latest modern phenomenon of "sexting."

(That had certainly made for some very interesting meetings, though he had not appreciated the knowing smirk on Denmark's face following a joint session with their agricultural ministers.)

He had just finished checking his Google alerts for any updated news on Finland's EU situation while sitting at his desk drinking a hard earned  beer, when his phone buzzed for the tenth time in an hour, one signaling beep quickly followed by another. Sweden had to wonder whether or not Finland was more addicted to texting than Sealand. He closed the web browser and reached across the desk to click through his messages:

 _From: Sealand_

 _Wnt2 spend night @ L's. K?_

 _From: Finland_

 _Hard day. Like Hanatamago, I want a back rub. Busy?_

Smiling to himself, Sweden quickly answered both of his boys, thrilled to have such a perfect alignment of three people's desires. Sealand would his get sleepover, his Papa would get his, and by the gods, Finland would most definitely get that back rub.

An hour and a half later, a very pliant Finland was sprawled across Sweden's living room floor on his stomach, murmuring his appreciative thanks as Sweden dug his hands into the tense muscles of his shoulders and back, pressing his thumbs along the column of his spine. The little sounds and sighs escaping from Finland's lips made it hard for Sweden not to follow the trail of his fingers with his tongue, mouth moving hotly down his skin until Finland rolled over to reach for him with eager hands and an even hungrier kiss.

Sweden shook his head and held Finland's hands over his body, mumbling in his ear, “You've had a long day. I'll do the work.”

He teased a readily indolent Finland with long, slow strokes of his palms down his naked chest matched with deep, searching kisses, until another kind of tension was radiating throughout his body and his hips were rising off the ground in open and obvious invitation. Without breaking the kiss, Sweden cradled Finland's body against his, sliding his free hand into Finland's boxers to take him in hand, swallowing his sighs as he sucked on his tongue. He held Finland close as he wriggled and moaned, trying to get Sweden to touch him just so, his kiss becoming demanding with little nips of teeth that communicated his pleasured frustration.

Sweden let Finland break away just long enough for him to pout prettily with his reddened lips and huff, “Be nice to me, I've had a very hard day.”

Sweden laughed a little when Finland fluttered his eyelashes and canted his hips as he drawled out "hard day", pressing their lips together as he finally gave in and stroked his hand against the hot skin of Finland's cock in earnest, twisting his wrist just the way he liked until Finland was panting into his mouth and coming over his fingers.

Sweden rolled onto his back to let Finland flop boneless across his chest, wiping his hand on his pants before he wrapped an arm around his still heaving shoulders. Finland sighed happily and expressed his pleasure with little slick kisses littered across Sweden's cheek and neck.

Sweden felt the rumble of his giggle before Finland mumbled, “You always did give the best massages. Thanks.”

Sweden snorted and laughed a little under his breath, running his fingers through Finland's hair as he returned, “Got to thank you. Now I can finally look at my floor again and not see Denmark straddling Norway.”

This statement made Finland shake with laughter that tickled against Sweden's skin as he managed to choke out, “Well, I refuse to help you with reconquering your yard until the summer!”

Sweden chuckled even as his lust flared at the image of fucking Finland outside under the sun, before his heart tripped a little at the idea that Finland didn't seem to mind the thought of still being with him in the summer, so many months from now.

Eventually, Finland's laughed quieted and he started tracing little circles over Sweden's chest as they lay snuggled on the floor, warmed by the crackling of the fire and the hum of the heater. He wondered what was up when Finland opened and closed his mouth several times, as if working up to something.

“So...you know how I've been kinda stressed out lately?” Finland began, voice unsure as spoke in hesitating fits and starts.

Sweden's breath caught a little as he nodded, not wanting to speak lest he derail Finland's sudden desire to share.

“Well, you see...I've been all tied up in knots over this business with Greece and Portugal. Its been going on for awhile,” he sighed and Sweden hoped that the sudden racing of his heart wasn't so loud under Finland's chest that he would wonder why a discussion of European politics was causing such an undue reaction.

“Everyone at home's been so up in arms and the other nations haven't been very nice about any of it either...” Finland said, his fingers clenching into a fist over Sweden's chest before he breathed deeply and continued in a more forceful tone, “I don't want to bore you with all the details. Because I don't want you to worry. ”

 _I already know all of the details,_ Sweden thought as his eyes unconsciously looked towards the locked door of his office, trying to keep his palms from sweating as he continued to thread his fingers through Finland's hair.

“Anyways,” Finland pushed forwards, “I've been pulling out my hair trying to figure out what to do, how to keep everyone from going too crazy and then today I found out that Germany wants a meeting with me next week.”

Sweden's hands tightened around Finland's shoulders as he thought of how badly this meeting could go for Finland, all too aware of Germany's stance in his matter from the piles of articles and emails he had stashed away. Trying to contain his anxiety, he asked, “Next week?”

Finland clearly misinterpreted his sudden tension as he leaned up and smiled apologetically, saying, “I know, I am sorry that I'll have to miss our plans to introduce Sealand to Åland. Tell him I'll make it up to him another time.”

Sweden shook his head, frowning in worrying until Finland ran the pad of his thumb along the downward curve of his lips while he murmured, “How about I make it up to you with a date in Stockholm when I get back...Valentine's Day?”

Sweden flushed and reached up to press his mouth to Finland's jaw, whispering his happy agreement, which devolved into several long moments of kissing before Sweden forced himself to return to the issue at hand, his nerves still crawling with anxiety at the thought of Finland going into this meeting with Germany as things stood.

He sat up, dragging Finland with him before he asked, trying to appear nonchalant, “Not worried about your meeting with Germany?”

Finland sighed and ran his hands through his hair as he answered, “I was a wreck all day just thinking about it,” he paused, his face going soft and fond as his voice lightened, “but then I talked with Estonia, since he knows all about what's been going on. He's just got such a clear head for these sorts of things that I felt much better after whining to him.”

Sweden tried to keep the scowl from his face, disliking the jealousy that crept unbidden and determinedly up his spine as he stood up from their nest on the floor, turning so that Finland wouldn't see the envy in his eyes or taste the bitter insecurity in his throat.

He wondered why it was that Estonia was the one Finland looked to for help, wanting to know what it was that gained him the privilege of  such knowledge and intimacy. He wondered how long Estonia had been Finland's confidant.

He was so caught up in his own self-doubt that he missed the warm and affectionate tone of Finland's voice as he wound his arms around Sweden's waist and pressed his chest against Sweden's back and said, “And then I got to come here and relax and everything seemed good again.”

At the touch of Finland's lips to the back of his neck, Sweden turned around, gripping his wrists and kissing him possessively, determined to rid himself of his nagging whispers of jealousy in Finland's welcoming heat, promising himself again that when the moment came, he would be so ready to be there for Finland that he wouldn't think of needing to turn to someone else.


	13. Chapter 13

When the waiter passed by his candlelit table once again, questioning look slowly starting to slide into one of sympathy, Sweden checked his phone to make sure that he hadn't missed any messages or calls from Finland, knowing that he certainly would have let him know if he was delayed in his return from Germany. The screen was blank, offering him no explanation as to the twenty minutes he had been sitting alone in one of the nicest restaurants in Stockholm, surrounded by couples celebrating Valentine's Day. On his own table for two sat a small gift from Sealand, a framed picture of Finland and Sealand in front of the Turku Cathedral, and a delicate spray of roses, as unobtrusive in their loveliness as was his intended Valentine.

To distract himself, Sweden scrolled through the messages he had received earlier in the day, remembering the relief he had felt when the words had once again taken on a hopeful, happy tone; the texts littered with emoticons and exclamation points, threaded through with a current of affection and anticipation. It had settled Sweden's anxious mind to know that he had made the right choice to make that call to Germany the morning after he'd spent an hour listening to Finland's unhappy, stressed voice teeter on the edge of surrender.

 _“He won't listen to me, Sweden. I tried to put the Finnish plan in front of him and Germany won't even look at it. He told me that he asked for this meeting so he could 'show me the error of my thinking.' What a total asshole! He says that the plan I worked so hard to get my leaders to accept will send us all into a second catastrophe. How am I supposed to go home with nothing after all this? He doesn't understand that this is what I have to do! I am sure if he just listened, just gave me a chance, I could convince him. But I am just so tired and Germany is really intimidating and I don't know how much more I can do....”_

Sweden had spent the hours of darkness in front of his computer with the weeks' worth of articles splayed out in front of him, heart pounding and mind racing as he knew that there was finally something he could do for Finland, something he could do to help, to make it right. And so when dawn had broken, he had gathered his thoughts into a tight, convincing, argument and called Germany, cajoling and coercing him into sitting down with Finland and giving his plan serious consideration. He waited through the endless hours of meetings at work for a message from Finland, feeling his spirits and confidence soar when his phone buzzed with his love's happy message:

 _“Germany had reconsidered and took two hours to meet with me and get a real understanding of the proposal! I guess hard work pays off! I can't wait to see you tonight! XO!”_

The sound of a throat clearing snapped Sweden out of his daze and he fumbled to shove his phone back in his pocket, looking up to see the harried, if kind, face of his waiter staring down at him.

“Excuse me, sir, shall I bring you anything while you wait for your guest to arrive?” The waiter asked, voice not quite hiding his doubts that Sweden was to have a guest arrive at all.

Sweden shook his head and returned to drumming his fingers on the table as he waited, wondering what could be keeping Finland, anxious to share in his good mood. The waiter had just shuffled away when his pocket vibrated, shocking Sweden into knocking his knees against the underside of the table. As he tried not to curse in pained irritation, he hurriedly read his message:

 _From: Finland_

 _I'm outside. Meet me. Now._

Sweden felt a queer sense of unease start to roil in his stomach from Finland's bizarre, terse command. He waved the waiter over, mumbling that he had to go outside for a moment, before collecting his coat from the hostess and wandering out into the icy chill of late evening in Stockholm. As his eyes adjusted, he spotted Finland standing against his car, illuminated by the street lights, a solitary figure braced in the snow.

When he got closer, the sense of disquiet only grew as he was able to take in the nervous energy pouring off of Finland's body; his worry spiking at the sight of the barely restrained upset in Finland's eyes, only to have his entire mind go on red-panicked-alert when he reached out a hand to pull Finland into his embrace and Finland skittered away just as he had seven hundred years ago.

Hurt, surprised, and worried, Sweden let his hand fall to his side and just watched as Finland paced back and forth in front of him, biting on his lip and casting nervous little glances at Sweden, as unsure and fragile as Sweden had seen him in many years.

Finally, Finland stopped and turned to him, eyes wide and pleading as he stumbled over his words, almost rambling as he asked, “I couldn't talk to you with all those people inside...I don't want to have this conversation because...I don't want to believe it...but Veneziano, he told me...and why would he make something like this up...and it all suddenly made so much more sense....”

He paused, taking a step closer to a now very agitated and confused Sweden, taking a deep breath before he continued, “I need you to tell me the truth. Did you do something to make Germany talk to me?”

The entire world seemed to shrink to the space between his body and Finland's, two tiny points of warmth in an expanse of cold darkness, as Sweden stared at Finland's lovely, concerned face, wanting to rub away the worry lines crawling out from the corners of his eyes and press his lips to the downward turn of his mouth, red and dry from the cold and Finland's nervous habit.

He did neither, feeling something sink as heavy and unforgiving as stone punishment in his heart, knowing that somewhere all of his good intentions had gone desperately wrong.

“Yes,” he answered plainly, unprepared for melting of Finland's concern into liquid anger as Finland promptly took a step back and slammed his fist into the side of his car, shouting heated curses in Finnish before he turned back and stared at Sweden with open upset and rage.

“What the fuck did you do?” Finland demanded and Sweden suddenly understood the fear that Russia must have felt all those years ago as he ran from the snipers in Finland's forest as he stood crumbling under the deadly cold of Finland's glare.

Sweden held out his hands, softening his voice as much as possible, wishing he had the words to explain, “I just called him. Asked him to reconsider.”

Finland laughed harshly, his breath misting in front of him, “Must have been more than a phone call. When he saw me at the airport, Veneziano wouldn't shut up about how sweet he thought it was that someone would offer so much to help his lover. So stop lying and tell me what you did.”

Feeling as though he was spiraling out of control, desperately trying to understand how he had gone from a table with roses to a parking lot of angry words and hurt eyes, Sweden struggled to answer, knowing that nothing he said was going to make a difference at this point as the full weight of what he had done settled on his shoulders.

“Does it matter?”

Finland stopped his movements entirely, closing his eyes briefly, body rigid as he asked, “How long had you have you known?”

Sweden swallowed, guilt scratching down his throat as he realized it was about to get even worse.

“Since the trip to Turku. I saw the notes in your office,” he confessed, remembering his hurried morning investigation.

For a long moment there was nothing but silence, stretched out between them like the gulf between their shores, as forbidding and dangerous and Sweden thought he might drown as he watched all the rage drain from Finland's shoulders, replaced by a weary, hurt resignation he recognized too well.

“You don't respect me at all,” Finland sighed brokenly and the words lodged themselves like barbs in Sweden's heart.

“Of course I do,” Sweden rushed to explain, trying to take a step closer to Finland, only to be halted by Finland's swiftly outstretched arm and the hurt fury in his eyes warning him away.

Finland laughed a little hysterically and Sweden's insides twisted as he said, “How can you say that? You've been waiting and planning behind my back for weeks to sweep in like a knight in shining armor and save poor, stupid, little Finland from his own mistakes!”

Sweden shook his head, wanting to protest it all, but Finland kept going, words pouring out of him like snow melt, anger warring with tears in his voice, “You don't trust me to stand my own as a nation. You don't trust yourself enough to wait for me to come to you for help, if I even want it. God, this is why I stayed away from you for so long...you can't even help yourself, can you? I thought once you had Sealand, your need to take care of and protect someone would be satisfied and that maybe it would be safe to try again.”

“I just wanted to make you happy,” Sweden interrupted, pleading and quiet, “Wanted to do it right this time.”

Finland let out a long, frustrated breath, kicking his heel against the tire as he said, “This isn't supposed to be some do-over for the past, Sweden. If I spent all my time being angry or feeling guilty for what's happened, I'd having nothing left.”

Sweden looked down at the dirty snow covered ground, lost and adrift, feeling as though he had never understood Finland less in all their time together.

And so he said the one thing he had yet to say, the only thing that remained unchanged.

“I love you.”

Finland sighed and Sweden watched longingly as his eyes fluttered closed and his hands clenched and unclenched.

“I know you do. I've know that for a very long time. I don't think that's ever been the problem,” Finland said quietly, his eyes softening for just a moment before he straightened again, warmth flickering away as quickly as it had appeared as he continued, “I thought you might finally be ready to look beyond the past and see me, and you, for who we really are...that you would be able to know how to love me as a nation and as a man, and to know the difference.”

Sweden's heart was in his throat, choking him with the speed of its beating as he stood rooted to the ground, Finland's words swimming chaotically in his mind, searingly painful in their truth.

Finland's voice had gone hard and cold once again as he looked up at Sweden with disappointed eyes, “Going behind my back and trying to save me from Big Bad Wolf Germany. Now I know that you clearly aren't capable of knowing the difference. That you don't trust or respect me enough to let me succeed or fail on my own.”

Sweden tried again to speak, but the words died on his tongue, frozen under Finland's icy hurt, his own heart cracking as Finland took another step away from him, gazing at him with a mixture of sadness, anger and pity as he said:

“And I can't be with someone like that.”

  
An hour later, Sweden sat silently in the driveway of his house, trying not to remember Finland's parting words, or the sight of his car pulling away into the night, or the despair and shame he had felt as he trudged back into the restaurant to pick up the abandoned presents that sat taunting him on the table for two, now a sad reminder of his failure screaming at him from the passenger seat.

Instead, he tried to think of how he was going to explain himself to Sealand as he gazed at the living room window, the light from the television playing blue and green through the curtains. As at a loss as he was when confronted with Finland's raw hurt and disappointment, Sweden gave up trying to find the right words and trudged inside.

Almost as soon as he had closed the front door, Sealand came bounding out, his happy surprise bleeding into obvious confusion when he took in his Papa's early, solo return home.

“Where's Finland?” Sealand asked while looking around for the person who tonight of all nights clearly should have been there at Sweden's side.

Feeling the pain well up fresh and bright in the face of Sealand's eager expectation, Sweden sighed heavily, moving past Sealand into the living room, sitting down without taking off his coat or his shoes.

“I don't think he's going to be coming around much for a time,” Sweden said gently, trying not to be overwhelmed by his guilt and hurt.

“What? Why not?” Sealand said with bewilderment as he crossed the room to stand in front of Sweden, crossing his arms as he demanded to know, “What happened?”

Sweden closed his eyes, unprepared for a second inquisition, mumbling, “Its complicated.”

Predictably, Sealand did not take kindly to this adult brush-off, insisting, “You always say that! Why won't you ever explain anything to me?”

“You're too young to understand,” Sweden tried to say soothingly, though he knew instantly that his words were having the opposite effect as Sealand's face twisted into something ugly and upset.

“I bet you did something silly that hurt Finland's feelings because you feel so guilty all the time,” Sealand spat out and Sweden wondered not for the first time exactly how perceptive his son was, wondering if he was the only person in the world that didn't seem to have a good understanding of his own motivations.

His silence apparently spoke volumes to his increasingly upset son as Sealand poked his finger into Sweden's chest, railing on, “You think I'm just a kid! Just some stupid not-a-nation that will never understand anything! Just like you don't trust Finland to keep showing up!”

Sealand's eyes filled with tears and Sweden felt his heart break even more as Sealand brushed the tears away with angry fingers, attempting to keep his voice steady as he started to flee from the room.

“And now Finland's mad at you and I won't get to hang out with him any more and that really, really, sucks, Papa!”

As Sweden listened to the furious pounding of Sealand's feet as he ran up the stairs and the finality of the sound of his bedroom door slamming, he stared into the remnants of the fire, feeling Finland's disappointed hurt and Sealand's angry confusion bury themselves irrevocably in his heart and mind, wearying him to the point of resignation. Both of the people he loved the most had run from him, victims of his own failure to look beyond the past, to have enough faith in the future.

What else could he do but let go?


	14. Chapter 14

The mouse cursor was taunting him, blinking insistently as he sat at his desk, tired from a lackluster night of tossing and turning that hardly passed for sleep, telling himself that he ought to be handling the business of his nation instead of staring at the image on his desktop and feeling morose.

That morning, Sealand had refused to come out of his room for breakfast, his silence upsetting Sweden more than any of his accurate accusations from the night before. And so he had spent his morning swiveling aimlessly in his desk chair, gazing absently out the window of his office, and generally trying to ignore the hollow ache in his chest.

The shrill ring of his phone playing some obnoxious Top 40 hit broke his staring contest with the smiling faces of Finland and Sealand enshrined in pixels on his computer monitor. Sweden's usual disinterest in answering a unexpected call from Denmark was only exacerbated that morning, through no fault of Denmark's own except that he was neither of the men Sweden wanted to hear from so desperately.

Worried that perhaps Finland had spread the news of what happened through their little “family,” Sweden ignored Denmark's first call. He considered answering when his cell rang again, this time with the standard ringtone, caller ID flashing _Norway_. It was deeply unusual for Norway to go out of his way to speak to anyone that wasn't Iceland or Denmark, but still he decided that whatever the other Nordic had to say to him could wait.

It was only when his office line started blinking red, demanding attention, that Sweden gave in and abandoned his solitary self-recrimination and answered.

 _“Sweden! Guess what? I have your kid!”_ Denmark's voice crackled cheerfully over the line as Sweden sat up abruptly, all thoughts of heartache and doubt immediately subverted by the shock that accompanied Denmark's words.

 _“You mean WE have your son, idiot,”_ Norway chimed in, unsurprisingly in the same place as Denmark on the day after Valentine's, tone as scathingly apathetic as always.

“What do you mean? What's happened to Sealand?” Sweden said in one giant rush, already reaching for his coat and car keys, mind conjuring images of hospitals or police stations.

 _“Whoa, calm down! He's fine! Apparently the little rascal lifted one of your credit cards and used it to take a cab out to my place—by the way, you have got to stop letting him follow Romano around at meetings, I think he's picking up bad habits---”_

 _“Be quiet, moron,”_ Norway hissed, cutting off Denmark's diatribe as Sweden tried to process the fact that Sealand had not only run away to Denmark but also apparently become a thief overnight.

 _“Ow, Norge! Save that shit for later when the kid's not around!”_

 _“I'll stop when you stop being such a useless fool.”_

As he slammed his office door, Sweden cleared his throat and growled, “Forget the foreplay and tell me what's going on!”

He gritted his teeth as Denmark laughed delightedly and Norway fell back into his usual dispassionate quiet, waiting until one of them got over themselves enough to answer his question.

Finally, Denmark took pity on him and said, _“Look, I don't know what's going on, but the kid showed up this morning and said that he was feeling too claustrophobic or some shit in your house and that he needed to be with someone who wouldn't treat him like a baby. Someone awesome like me!”_

 _“That's because you are as undisciplined and ridiculous as any child,”_ Norway snorted and if Sweden hadn't been too occupied with feeling the hurt that accompanied the revelation that Sealand had run away from his house, even temporarily, he would have found the statement equally funny.

 _“So, what the fuck did you do,”_ Denmark asked with a mix of amusement and concern, softening Sweden's ire and worry enough that he was able to sigh as he opened his car door and mumble:

“Finland and I were trying to be together again...”

 _“Yes, we know,”_ Norway interrupted blandly and Sweden wondered exactly how obvious his feelings had always been to everyone around him.

“And now we're not. Finland left me,” Sweden said lowly as he pulled the car out of the garage, sadness crawling up his spine as he continued, “Sealand wasn't happy when he found out last night.”

For a long moment there was silence on the other end of the line before Norway caught Sweden off-guard once again as he asked acerbically , _“You got involved in his EU mess, didn't you?”_

“How did you know?”

This time Norway's voice was even more cold and unforgiving as he answered Sweden's question, _“I know you and I know Finland. You absolute fool, Sweden.”_

Norway's rebuke hit him like a blow to the chest, but before he could respond, Denmark had apparently wrested control of the phone or Norway had walked away in disgust or disinterest as he said in good-natured sympathetic solidarity, _“Sounds like some serious shit. That needs beer. Come over here and make-up with your kid and tell us all about it!”_

Touched in spite of himself, Sweden felt some of the sadness and anxiety that had been banded around his heart loosen as he thanked Denmark for keeping Sealand safe and hung up the call, pressing his foot down on the gas as he made his way towards company, if not comfort, and the important job of winning his son back.

  
“Wow, you really do look like you need this!” Denmark said as he looked Sweden up and down before enthusiastically thrusting a glass of beer into his hand and leading him into his living room, where they were met with Norway's bored glare and a Sealand who was trying his very best to not look in the direction of his Papa, staring at the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

Sweden let out a breath he had been holding since he picked up the phone in Stockholm as he settled into the chair that Denmark was more or less shoving him into, willing Sealand to look at him and see the worry and relief in his eyes.

Never very adept at reading tense situations, Denmark acted as was his wont and plunged right into the awkwardness, clapping Sweden on the back and ordering him, “Tell us everything! Unload your burdens onto Big Brother Denmark's awesome shoulders!”

Sweden shot a poisonous glare at Denmark, which went cheerfully unheeded, grumbling as he cast small glances at his angry child, “I don't think that's a good idea.”

Sealand huffed and finally turned to look at him as he waved his arms and shouted, “See! I told you! He never tells me anything because he thinks I'm too young to handle it! Which is so lame! I was the one that got them back together in the first place!”

Denmark laughed and even Norway snorted as Sweden tried and failed to deny that statement, interrupted by another hearty clap on the back from Denmark and the squeeze of his hand as he winked at Sweden and advised, “Hey, why not tell him? Its not like we've been sparing him the gritty details of our awesome, if bloody, history and so far he's been a real bad-ass trooper about everything he's learned. Give the kid a chance!”

At the sight of Sealand's pleading, hopeful eyes, begging to be trusted and let in, Sweden's resolve crumbled. He took several large swigs of beer, taking courage and comfort from the familiar feel of the bubbles chasing down his throat and the warm pressure of Denmark's hand on his shoulder, before he started slowly unraveling the whole tale of the debacle with Finland.

One beer and twenty minutes later, Sweden had managed to relate almost the entire story, editing out the parts that had involved nudity and happy endings, feeling the load on his heart lightening, even as he witnessed Sealand's confused disappointment and Norway's knowing disdain.

“Holy shit, you actually offered Germany more contributions to the bailouts if he listened to Finland?” Denmark said as Sweden finished his story, eying him with disbelief.

Sweden nodded, flushing with embarrassment and regret, though he felt encouraged that Sealand's expression had at least shifted out of anger into something more shrewd and considering.

Denmark winced, “Man, Norge would have my balls for breakfast if I did something like that. And not in that positive, life-affirming way*.”

Norway promptly smacked Denmark before he responded, “Yes, I would. And with good reason. You're an idiot, Sweden. You should never have interfered without being asked, particularly as Finland is bound to be sensitive to such an...intrusion.”

Sealand bristled, seemingly ready to once again come to Papa's defense, only to have Norway wave him off him as he turned his lazy gaze on Sweden, calculating and challenging as always as he said, “Finland is also an idiot.”

Now it was Sweden's turn to bristle and rise to Finland's defense as he shifted forward angrily in his seat, grunting, “Don't say that, he didn't do anything wrong.”

Norway looked vaguely amused by his righteous indignation as he continued to stare listlessly at Sweden, murmuring, “No? He supposedly knows you better than anyone and yet for weeks he dangles his stress and unhappiness in front of you, unexplained, refusing to let you in for fear that you would act recklessly on his behalf, and then acts surprised when you do in fact without his knowledge commit an crime of grievous foolishness and desperation to try and make it all better for him? You might be the bigger idiot, but I wouldn't be so ready to assume all the blame.”

Sweden sat in stunned silence, a tiny voice in the back of his head trying to insist that some of what Norway had said was true, feeling increasingly more certain that so much of what had happened could have been avoided if either of them had actually ever opened their mouths and said anything of real importance to one another.

Denmark whistled as he shuffled closer to Norway's side, voice low and impressed as he said, “God, you're so freaking sexy when you're being all smart and perceptive.”

Norway's cheeks stained pink even as he shoved Denmark away and mumbled, “And you are still the biggest idiot.”

Unfazed by Norway's rebuke, Denmark smiled at Sweden and gave him a thumbs-up, encouraging him as he said, “Don't worry! You can get him back! Norge breaks up with me like every other day!”

“Please don't imply we have a relationship to end,” Norway said as he rolled his eyes.

Sealand sat up eagerly in his chair, looking between his two uncles as he asked, “So, what do you do to get him to take you back, Uncle Denmark?”

Sweden's eyes widened and he shook his head at Denmark, hoping against hope that Denmark would not answer that question truthfully. For his part, Denmark laughed and scratched his head, eyes twinkling with mirth as he looked at Norway, who was deliberately staring at the wall as if he had never seen anything more enthralling in his life.

“Umm, well, I don't think my tactics are gonna work for your Pops,” Denmark explained, shrugging his shoulders.

“What? Why not?” Sealand demanded, getting out his chair and walking over to perch on the arm of Sweden's chair, apparently ready to rejoin his team now that the prospect of reconciliation had been put on the table.

Denmark hummed thoughtfully for a moment before he smiled winningly at Sweden and Sealand, “Well, let's put it this way kiddo, since Finland's only ever dumped your dad once before, he tends to do it for pretty freaking important reasons that need substantially bigger apologies than what I give to Norway.”

Norway smirked and laughed under his breath, causing Denmark to suddenly flush and mumbled, “Not that my apology isn't big or anything...”

Fortunately for Sweden, Sealand seemed to gloss right over his uncles' perversity, focusing instead on the far more interesting revelation as he asked with avid curiosity, “What? Finland left Papa before?”

Denmark nodded and chirped, “You're damned right he did,” before his gaze went dark and the room suddenly felt awash in tension as Denmark glowered, “And to make himself feel better after it happened, Sweden went and stole Norge from me.”

“YOU DID WHAT?” Sealand shrieked into Sweden's poor ears as he leaped from his perch and looked at him with wide, unbelieving eyes.

“Thank you, Denmark,” Sweden sighed and rubbed his forehead, wondering just how long it was going to take him to explain the clusterfuck of pain and progress that was the early nineteenth century to a son that was already feeling shaken in his parental faith.

Apparently feeling more manipulative and vicious than usual, Norway stood up as well, crossing the room and making “tsk, tsk” sound before settling himself most uninvited and unwanted into Sweden's lap.

“You never told Sealand about our loving marriage?” Norway said as he wrapped his arms around Sweden's neck, “I'm so hurt.”

Denmark was already striding across the floor, looking ready to spit nails, and Sealand was staring at Sweden with unabashed fascination as Sweden struggled to push Norway off of him, hissing under his breath, “What the hell are you doing?”

Norway smirked and whispered hotly into Sweden's ear, “Foreplay.”

Disturbed into stillness, Sweden offered no resistance when Denmark came and unceremoniously snatched Norway out of his lap, glaring daggers at him. Norway looked as unaffected as ever as he strolled out of the room, leaving Sweden in an stare down with an obviously jealous Denmark.

“I'm sorry that Finland gave you the shaft, but there will be no marrying of Norway this time around, understand?”

Sweden rolled his eyes and nodded, “Don't want him. Don't worry.”

The clouds on Denmark's face cleared, his sunny disposition returning as he gave Sweden a smile, “Awesome. Because then I would have to kill you.”

“Like to see you try,” Sweden mumbled under his breath.

“WILL SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!” Sealand shouted, startling both men out of their pissing contest.

Sweden sighed and ran his hands through his hair, knowing that this was going to be a long conversation, standing up and waving Sealand over as he said, “Why don't we take a walk and talk about what happened yesterday first, ok?”

Sealand nodded eagerly, practically dragging Sweden from the room in his impatience; impressively managing to hold back his questioning until they were both bundled up and wandering the ground's of Denmark's country house.

Sweden's heart melted when Sealand grabbed him by the sleeve of his coat, looking down at the ground as he mumbled earnestly, “I'm sorry that I ran out on you when I found out about Finland, Papa.”

Sweden ruffled his hair, bending down slightly to make sure that Sealand could tell how serious he was as he answered quietly, “I'm sorry that it hurt you. Whatever Finland feels for me has nothing to do with you.” 

Sealand nodded, smiling shyly, before Sweden let his tone go more stern as he continued, “But never, ever run away again without telling me, okay? Was so worried.”

Sealand blushed and nodded again before shuffling away, abruptly changing the conversation as he asked, voice more knowing than it ought to have been, “What were you thinking, Papa? Going behind Finland's back to Germany?”

Sweden bit back a sigh, remembering exactly why he had wanted to avoid telling his son the whole story, answering shortly, “Was supposed to be my grand romantic gesture.”

Sealand spun around and looked at him in open horror as he said, “What! When I said that I meant something like proposing in the rain or standing outside his window with this thing that people used to have before iPods!** Not stomping all over his political autonomy!”

Sweden's reverie about rainy proposals and wondering exactly what kind of movies Sealand had been watching was interrupted as the needle of his thoughts scratched to a halt, “Political autonomy? Where did you learn something like that?”

Sealand rolled his eyes and continued trudging up the muddy path, explaining, “Before you showed up, I was eavesdropping on Uncle Denmark and Uncle Norway when they were arguing in the kitchen after their phone call with you. Uncle Norway was all like _'Don't feel sorry for him! Do you know what I would do to you if you trampled on my political autonomy?'_ and then Uncle Denmark said _“C'mon, babe, you know you like it when we negotiate bilaterally!”_

Then there was a bunch of weird noises and crashing sounds so I went and hid in the living room, which was a good idea because Uncle Denmark came out like two minutes later with a bloody nose.”

Sweden closed his eyes and tried to remember that Denmark had just taken care of his kid, quelling the sudden urge to murder him. Sealand clearly mistook his sudden silence and lack of forward motion as a sign of worry as he patted Sweden's arm and informed him, “Don't worry, Papa, he told me he had an appointment with the nurse later this afternoon.”

Sweden groaned and mentally cursed Denmark, wishing he had thought to bring his car keys with him so that he and Sealand could make an escape unscathed by his fellow Nordic's frequent total lack of decency, unwilling to risk the chance that Denmark was indeed visiting the "nurse" by going back inside the house for at least an hour.

Sweden started walking once again, catching up to Sealand and throwing an arm around his shoulders, happy that he had regained his son's confidence, even as his chest tightened uncomfortably at the thought of reliving the last time Finland left him with the hurt of the night before still so fresh in his mind.

And yet, he knew that there was no avoiding it. The past was written and immutable, though it could perhaps, with some perceptive outside reflection, help frame the present and shape the future.

“Well, Sealand, it seems we've got some time to kill. How about I tell you the story of the last time Finland and I broke up?”

Sealand looked up at him in happy surprise, though his eyes were soft and thoughtful, his words as gentle as Sweden's were sad at he answered, “I'd really like that, if you feel up to it.”

“Might as well. Not safe to go back into that house....”


	15. Chapter 15

“So, why did he leave? Back then, I mean.”

 _“Ah,”_ Sweden thought ruefully as he and Sealand huddled together on a log looking out over the lake that lapped softly on the edge's of Denmark’s land, _“now there is a question.”_

He was silent for a long time, staring out at the rippling of the water in the mid-winter wind, trying to think how to best explain something so complex and yet also so simple to a nation who would likely never experience what it meant to be part of a Union, to experience such a thing without the amelioration of democracy.

It was all so different now, when power was disbursed over millions creating an ever changing tide of opinions, that he could hardly represent them all, being instead an amalgamation of choice and change...the state no longer dictating the actions of his heart, relegated to a vague humming of sentiment in the back of his mind.

Of course, none of this was possible until the moment that Finland was no longer in his house or in his bed, absolutism only overturned in the wake of defeat and the phoenix of liberalism rising from the ashes of the disaster that was the eighteenth century monarchs.

Sweden supposed that romantic cliches rang true for a reason, though it still felt like sandpaper on his thousand year old soul to know that he only came to understand how deeply he felt for Finland through his loss and the subsequent political freeing of the masses, the loosening of the unilateral bonds on Sweden's heart.

Though even to come to that realization, he was forced to admit now that he'd tucked more than two centuries of brooding under his belt, took another personal mistake of epic proportions.

Marrying Norway.

Explaining that to Sealand was going to be almost as much fun as it was trying to justify it to Norway just after the ink had dried on the contract that sealed their personal union.

He looked askance at his little protectorate, who was staring up at him with such concern and badly concealed curiosity that he decided it was probably best to be as honest and brief as he could get away with; to boil it to down to something even a young micro nation in the first blushes of adolescence could understand.

“It had been bad between for me and Finland off an on for a long time,” Sweden murmured, keeping his eyes on the horizon, feeling Sealand shift closer as if to offer comfort and support as Sweden continued trodding down memory lane, “periods of starvation, war, and foreign occupation for Finland. Shifting borders and empires in Europe and Russia that worried me.”

He remembered with too much clarity how small and wan Finland had become in the days following the Great Northern War and the Lesser Wrath , how the silence he had kept towards Sweden since the awful time of his famine echoed even louder in the hallways of his palace in Stockholm when he shuffled by, beaten but never defeated.

“Russia’d taken some of him, you know, not that there was always much to take. But he did. Stomped over the border and carved little pieces away. Didn’t want to see it then, where Russia had touched his body. Didn’t want to see that he was slowly shifting away from me.”

Sealand hummed and patted his arm, breath spilling out white and ephemeral into the air, “Because you cared about him, right?”

Sweden had thought about this for the many decades following the disastrous conclusion of their union, during all those years when Norway kept his stony distance in Christiania even though they were more formally bound together than he and Finland had truly been. Long nights spend alone trying to tease apart the threads of feelings tied to his heart and those that were tied to the whims and wants of his land, of his people, only coming to a conclusion when it was far too late.

“Suppose I did. You have to remember that we weren’t as free then to choose for ourselves as we are now. Absolute monarchy, dictatorship, when so much power sits in the hands of one or a few men…it colors everything, what they wanted, I would want...so strong it even could even alter something like love,” Sweden rambled under his breath, only to have Sealand halt him with an outstretched hand and a perplexed expression.

“What are you talking about?”

Sighing, Sweden tried to explain again, wishing for once that he were more at ease with sharing every little thing that crossed his mind like his idiot neighbor, cursing not for the first time that week his inability to express himself.

“I loved Finland, yes, but not like I do now. Then, I loved Finland partially because of who he was to me, but also because he was mine. He belonged to me, to my nation, to my king. For me, for the king, he was a reflection of our importance,” he spoke softly, with some difficultly, looking away to avoid the disappointment he was sure to see in Finland’s eyes.

“It’s why I didn’t want to see the marks of Russia on him after the Northern War, to see the glint of the East in his eyes, why I ignored him when he tried to speak anything but Swedish,” he confessed, reluctantly remembering how angry he’d been when rumors of discontent and Finnish nationalism had reached his ears, bubbling up from the intellects in Turku.

From the university that had once been his great and benevolent gift to his grateful territory came the blade of the knife that Sweden had accused Finland of shoving in his back when some of his people had named their own King, creating nation unto itself in these first tiny steps away from Sweden's care.

“During those times, the king had all the say in what we did, me and Finland. Didn’t have much of a government, though that changed as the kings kept getting worse. The one we had when I lost Finland was one of the worst, whispering to me that we could defend ourselves against Russia while staving off France's little warrior emperor,” he gritted his teeth as he remember the unmitigated recklessness and audacity of the last of the absolute monarchs.

The one who's crown he had demanded in recompense for the loss of his beloved land across the sea.

“So Russia kept stomping all over Finland? Because your king was a jerk?” Sealand asked, worrying at a thread that had come loose on his jacket, eyes downcast and troubled.

“Mmm, he did. Foolish kings and foolish nations don’t always know when to stop. Hard for us to tell which empires are waxing and which are waning, always thinking we're stronger than we are” Sweden said, feeling more tired than he had in many years, phantom pains of his once great empire aching in his limbs.

He wondered if England ever felt this way. If Denmark still woke up reaching for lands that were no longer his.

Sighing, he scuffed his shoe in Denmark’s earth, “And then there was all the trouble with France’s Napoleon. And I never really did stop fighting with Denmark.”

Sealand snorted with laughter, “So even then you thought it was fun, huh?”

Sweden rolled his eyes and cuffed Sealand lightly on the shoulder, before his frown deepened and turned serious once more, “Wish it was that simple. Back then it was more than just a punch in the nose or a kick to the shin. We fought of for land, for the sea, for supremacy. And one year, Denmark punched me in the nose while Russia grabbed Finland by the shin and this time refused to let go.”

Sealand sucked in a breath, exhaling out, “And then?”

“And I couldn’t take both for very long. I had my face towards Denmark while Finland was clawing at the ground as Russia pulled him in. Didn’t go fast enough or try hard enough to stand in front of Finland and keep him.”

Sweden stopped, glaring between his legs at the cold, dark mud of the lake's shore as he spoke so low that Sealand leaned forward to hear his words, “I couldn’t keep Russia out. Russia and Tsar Alexander's two pronged war... hit first and then he flattered, wooing Finland even while he waged war. He was waxing while I didn’t even know I was waning.”

His throat felt dry and he wished for the burn of hard liquor to wash away a truth that tasted as bitter now as it did then.

“Finland wanted to go?” Sealand whispered, seemingly unable to believe that Finland would want to be separated from his father.

Sweden shrugged his shoulders, “Still don’t really know exactly what Finland wanted for himself, maybe he didn't know either, but we were losing and he was suffering. Didn’t really have much a choice, did he, caught between me and Russia, each of us trying to hold him for ourselves. Maybe after six centuries of me being given away to someone new didn't seem so bad.”

He paused, trying to tamp down the old anger that was rising in his chest, knowing that old fury did nothing but light new fires that burned needed bridges. He’d spent years filled with anger for the idiocy of kings, the greed of Russia, Denmark’s timing, Napoleon’s complex, Finland’s weakness…anger for everyone but himself.

Sweden closed his eyes, remembering the sight of Finland’s face the day he strode into what had once been their house looking like someone Sweden had never seen before as he tossed down a document in Finnish bearing the mark of the Tsar and told Sweden that his allegiance was no longer his to command.

That he and his people had gone to Russia. That all that remained was for Sweden to acknowledge his defeat and end this futile war.

How that had burned in his heart and seared his mind, the pain of knowing that Finland and all four of his estates had turned away from him and given their loyalty to the new lion on that lounged their doorstep with a handful of claws and a mouthful of promises.

And two months later, bitter and tired and heartsick, he had put his own pen to paper and signed away all his rights to the nation he had kept by his side for six centuries; severing the ties that had bound them together through Kalmar and the Hundred Years War, from the grain fields of Poland to the wilds of America, as children lost in the snow to men in arms.

All of it gone with the stroke of a pen and the stamping of a seal.

He’d stood from the table, refusing to meet Finland’s steady gaze nor Russia’s knowing smile, still burning with the betrayal and anger that acted a cover for his heartbreak and shame, and left the room so as not to have to watch Finland walk out on him.  
So that he could feel that he had always been the one to leave, to walk away, and not the one wh had lost and was left.

He opened his eyes again, blinking into the sun as Sealand tugged against his sleeve while he asked, voice heavy with concern, “Papa? Are you OK? Do you want to change the subject?”

Sweden cleared his throat and shook his head, finally ready to tell his truth after so many years of denial, “Russia won Finland because I’d been weak. Took Finland for granted for a long time. Was led by arrogant men and my own blindness to fight a war I couldn’t win. And I lost something I couldn’t get back.”

“What did you do once he was gone?” Sealand asked softly and Sweden cringed, immediately reluctant to relate this less than attractive part of his past, feeling very much the adult who goes back and reads their teenaged journals only to realize the ridiculousness of their behavior.

 _I raged around my house, trying to ignore the hole in my chest by keeping my eyes turned away from the land across the sea; focusing all my narrow anger at the forests that bordered mine, coveting Norway not just for his timbers and his shores, but for the vengeance I could exact on one I thought had so wronged me._

He coughed and shifted nervously, giving away his anxiety to Sealand, who immediately turned to face him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

“Oh my God, is that when you married Uncle Norway?” Sealand hissed, jabbing Sweden in the side until he slowly nodded his head.

“You’re telling me that you lose the guy you’d been with for like a million years and then go after your rival’s main flame?” Sealand asked shrilly, making Sweden want to shrink into a tiny ball and roll away into the pond to avoid having to talk about this.

Instead, he straightened up and tried to appear as conciliatory as possible, “My people and the new king... they wanted something to make up for the loss of Finland. They wanted it too much.”

“AND?” Sealand demanded, clearly not sold on Sweden’s weak explanation.

“…and I did too,” Sweden admitted with a long sigh, words that he’d never spoken aloud rushing out, “I was hurt and angry and I missed Finland. Blamed Denmark a bit for what happened, for pushing his armies at me when Finland was under attack. I wanted to make him feel what I felt. Thought maybe if I had someone else in my house, I wouldn’t be thinking about him all the time. Thought maybe if Finland looked over and saw that I’d replaced him, he’d regret our parting.”

Sealand stared at him like he was a strange creature, disbelief written all over his face, “So you, what, stormed over and demanded that Denmark give you Norway to make up for Russia taking Finland from you?”

Sweden rubbed a gloved hand over his face, exhaustion creeping through his veins as he answered tiredly, “I involved England and used the war with Napoleon as leverage, but yes, I waited until Denmark was weak and then demanded that Norway be given to me as payment for what I’d lost in the war. To replace Finland.”

Sealand stared at him, gaping, mouth opening and closing several times in the time-honored tradition of children trying to understand the foibles of adults, before he managed to scoff, “Yeah, and how did that work out for you?”  
~~~~~

 _Stockholm, November 4th, 1814_

The news came through by courier that evening: Norway's Storting had finally ratified the final amendments of the Kiel treaty, finalizing their union with the election of Sweden's King Charles XIII.

Sweden read the message while Norway stared at him with blank frigidity from the corner of the sitting room, as deadly in his silent rage as he had been since Sweden brought him to his home following Denmark's abject humiliation and defeat in January. For more than a year, he and his king and his king's French lackey had kept Norway within in these walls, treated as an honored guest.

A guest who was to be worn down into accepting his own weakness and subservience, to surrendering himself unto the inevitable: union with his betters.

And now, with the words of this letter, there was nothing more to prevent the ratification of the proposal. They had one king, they would be unified, and perhaps Sweden would no longer feel the burning shame of Finland's loss, the pain ameliorated by this new addition to his household, ripped from Denmark's shaking and clinging grasp.

Norway did nothing, did not move an inch as Sweden stood from his chair to meet him in front of the fire, holding out the ring that was to be the symbol of this coerced connection. He watched and waited with baited breath as Norway took the simple piece of silver, teeth nearly piercing through his bottom lip as his chest heaved when he slid it on.

Sweden closed his eyes and waited for the ache that had nagged him for more than five years to fade; wishing that all the broken pieces within him would rearrange now that he had found another piece to fill in the gaps.

His concentration was broken by the rasping sound of Norway's laughter, the first expression of any emotion other than distant hate he'd seen from his new partner in the many months he'd prowled the halls of his house like a trapped animal.

“What?” Sweden grunted with irritated confusion, startled by the sudden flash of utter loathing in Norway's eyes, his skin crawling in response to the razor edges of Norway's cruel smirk.

“Are you really so stupid, Sweden? Did you think that by having me you could replace all that you had lost?” Norway asked as he settled back into his chair with feigned nonchalance.

Sweden bristled and walked away to stare out his window, trying to block the echoes of Norway's mockery as they reverberated in the empty parts of his heart.

“Ahh, and here I thought I couldn't sink lower than Danmark's idiocy,” Norway murmured, voice low and laced with malice.

Sweden continued to ignore him but it seemed that after so many months, Norway had been unleashed, his words spilling into the stillness of the afternoon, poisoning the air with their truth.

“Did you think that I would be like him? That I'd smile at you, all tremulous and sweet, because you bound me to you? That you could look on me and feel all your old glories, have that tingling warmth back in your chest and in your cock?”

Sweden swallowed his growing sense of unease, his subconscious screaming out that yes, indeed, that was exactly what he had thought when he'd let the King charm him into accepting his plan to take Norway from Denmark, wanting both comfort and revenge.

Sweden flinched when he felt Norway curl around his shoulders, speaking softly into his ear, a mockery of affection, “To be so burdened with such a stupid husband, I think even Denmark would have to laugh if he knew that you harbored some illusion of me as your loving, obedient new wife.”

Norway gripped Sweden's chin in his cold, strong fingers, forcing him to gaze in the direction of the East as he whispered, “I will walk out of your house as soon as you open that door. I will go home to my people and we will wait to be rid of you. And meanwhile, dear, your beloved will blossom under Russia's sun, so much brighter than yours, while he keeps your laws and forgets your language, becoming a nation that will never, ever need you again.”

“Stop,” Sweden breathed out, shaking with anger and despair, shoving Norway away as he spun around.

He started to ask, “Why are you being so cruel,” only to have Norway finally drop the last remnants of his facade of disdainful placidity as his eyes went hot and dark, his voice dripping with scorn as he raged:

“Why? You have stolen from me. Stolen my freedom, my independence to assuage your pathetic hurt feelings. And so why should I not steal your foolish hopes for solace and unity from you?”

As he stood in staring in shock, Norway sneered before he crossed the room and pressed a kiss to Sweden's cheek, lips chilled and dry as he whispered against his skin, “We are not interchangeable, you great fool. I will be no balm for your loneliness.”  
~~~~~~

“Holy shit, Uncle Norway is scary!” Sealand exclaimed as Sweden finished recounting the bitterness of his one and only wedding day to date.

“You are not wrong, kiddo!” An exuberant voice boomed from behind the log, accompanied by hands that clasped their shoulders and startled them out of their nineteenth century reverie.

Sweden shuddered and shook off Denmark's hand, wondering how long he had been standing there eavesdropping as he was certain he wasn't imagining the way Denmark's fingers had been digging angrily into his arm.

Denmark laughed and shuffled around the front of the log, rubbing his arms with his hands to keep warm, since he'd apparently neglected to bring a coat.

“But that's also part of his charm,” Denmark said happily while Sealand and Sweden just stared at him in disbelief.

“Must be love,” Sealand muttered under his breath and Sweden snorted in amusement, the somber mood of the afternoon lifting a little.

Denmark just continued smiling at them and shifting back and forth in an attempt to not freeze as he said, “Norge might also be a little psychic, because like half the nasty shit he said to your dad that day pretty much came true!”

Sealand gasped and shot up from their resting place, “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Denmark said with a wink, “but, seriously, you two need to come inside. I've got hot cocoa and akvavit waiting to warm us up!”

Sealand cheered and started sprinting towards the house, the energy of youth and the allure of chocolate carrying his little legs through the cold. Still huddling in on himself, Denmark fell in line with Sweden's strides, staring off into the distance for a long moment before he spoke:

“I don't know about you, but I'm going to need a whole lotta booze to get through the rest of that century.”

Much as it pained him to do so, Sweden couldn't help but agree, reluctantly grunting his approval.  
Denmark slung an arm around his shoulders, huffing with laughter as they walked back towards the house.

“C'mon now, show a little more spirit than that! We're gonna toast to the good and then drink enough to forget the bad...and then we're going to figure out how to get Finland back!”


	16. Chapter 16

“Fuck, do you remember that Bernadotte guy?” Denmark asked, beer sloshing out of his cup as he gestured wildly at Sweden, who was currently sprawled on Denmark's floor, pink cheeked and apparently fascinated by the ceiling.

Sweden snorted, annoyed that Denmark had interrupted his bleary eyed inspection of the spidery cracks in the plaster to ask something so stupid, feeling a sudden spike of sympathy for what Norway must have to put up with all the time.

“Yeah. _Was my king_ ,” he answered shortly, flinging out an arm to fumble for the half-consumed bottle of akvavit that was rolling around somewhere on the floor.

“Man, that guy was such a French douche,” Denmark said as he lounged on the couch, head flopped over the side, peering down at Sweden.

Even though it felt somewhat blasphemous to agree with Denmark, Sweden couldn't help but grunt his support for that statement, remembering how his imported king had refused to listen to the suggestions he started making, once he realized that Norway made a really shitty wife, that they try to win Finland back.

Fingers finally finding the blessed curve of the bottle, Sweden sat up enough to pop the bottle open and bring it to his lips, ready to take a mighty swig when Denmark shouted, “Hey, hey, you have to make a fucking toast first!”

Sweden rolled his eyes, even though it made his stomach churn a little, the harsh liquor weaving insidiously in his veins, and held his tongue knowing that if he waited long enough his drinking companion would pick up the slack as he had been doing all night and make the toast for him.

As evidenced by the collection of fallen soldiers and the slurring of their words, the two former nations had been at it for some time, diligently following through on Denmark's plan of drinking to remember and to forget.

Earlier, they'd come back in from the cold to find Sealand in the kitchen already slurping down his hot chocolate and eying Norway with a mixture of fear and admiration. When Norway had learned of Denmark's itinerary for the evening, a rigorous schedule of getting drunk and telling stories about the 1800's, he'd promptly grabbed Sealand by the hand and informed the room that they would “be leaving the two great fools to their idiocy and spending the night at his home.”

Sealand had shot Sweden a quick look of terror, silently begging to be saved from the uncle he had just recently learned was really scary and possibly psychic, only to immediately turn as pliable as putty when Norway made vague promises of showing him an authentic Viking longboat.

Norway had only looked at both of them and the bottles that Denmark had so thoughtfully gathered with calculating contempt, shaking his head and darting away from Denmark's sloppy and enthusiastic attempt to give him a farewell kiss before issuing his parting shot:

“I'll return in the morning. I accept your thanks in advance for sparing your son the experience of what is sure to be a disgusting display of sentimentality and ridiculousness. Please keep the stupidity to a minimum.”

With that, he had swept from the room with Sweden's starry eyed son in tow, leaving he and Denmark staring at each other across a table laden with beer and liquor, the air humming with tension and memory. The silence had lasted for a more than a moment, a testament to Denmark's own sense of discomfort, before the Dane poured them each a measure of the clear akvavit and raised his glass, waiting until Sweden had sighed and picked up his own before he gave a brittle smile and said,

“To Norge and Finland!”

“Skål,” Sweden had murmured before throwing back the drink, wincing from the burn as it rushed down his throat, wondering how many more sips it would take before it hurt a little less.

Now, laying loose-limbed and foggy-headed on Denmark's floor, Sweden no longer felt any burn, only the sweet, sweet feeling of heavy warmth as he waited for Denmark to determine what was left to honor with a raising of the glass.

Already, they had already made, under Denmark's exuberant instruction, toasts to the many wonders of the nineteenth century, deliberately sidestepping the…touchier…subjects in favor of:

1\. The founding of Carlsberg  
2\. Constitutions  
3\. Hans-Christian Anderson  
4\. That one time that he totally did it with Norge while he was married to Sweden that was really hot even if it had been kind of depressing  
5\. The founding of Carlsberg

As the moment dragged out with Denmark staring at him expectantly while Sweden slouched with the bottle at his lips, he began to worry that they had run out of happy memories, a niggling worry crawling out from the blanket of booze.

“Ah!” Denmark finally said happily as he raised his beer in a wobbly salute, “to Nordism!”

Sweden's lips twitched a little in a small smile as he nodded his head and took a swallow of the akvavit, enjoying the blurry memory of the brief years in which the educated youth of their countries had wanted to come together in one great Scandinavian nation, to build their Romantic dream of three brother nations standing proudly together at the top of the world.

The clinking sound of glass clattering on a wood floor brought him screaming back to reality as he sat up and took in the lost and haunted shadows that were dancing dangerously over Denmark's face.

 _Shit,_ Sweden cursed to himself, the happy blush brought on by those few years of nineteenth century goodwill fading entirely as he remembered just what had happened to ruin the fragile hopes for a Nordic brotherhood.

“Guess we weren't very good at being brothers back then, huh,” Denmark asked bitterly, eyes staring blankly ahead, and Sweden knew that he was reliving his humiliating and shattering defeat of 1864, trapped in memories of the irreparable loss of Schleswig that had brought his era of domination to a pathetic close.

 _The defeat that he and Norway had watched silently from the sidelines as they let him fall alone to the mightier swords of Prussia and Austria._

Sweden swallowed and leaned forward slowly, wary of upsetting Denmark when he was caught in one of his temperamental and tempestuous memories, disturbed as he always was by the hollow expression in his eyes.

“Sorry,” he mumbled lowly, watching in surprise as the clouds in Denmark’s eyes slowly cleared, quickly replaced by a rare expression of quiet bemusement.

“You don’t have to apologize for shit,” Denmark said, voice rough as he sank back into the couch cushions and stared critically at Sweden  before he reached to side to grab the abandoned bottle of liquor.

“You and Norge did what you had to do at the time. Hell, I probably would have done the same. If we had to apologize for all the fucked up stuff we’ve done to each other over the years, there would be nothing left to say,” Denmark said, taking a long deep drink straight from the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before passing it back to Sweden.

“You never felt guilty for any of it…not even Norway?” Sweden asked as thoughts of Finland poured through his mind in time with the akvavit spilling down his throat.

Sweden scowled with irritation when Denmark abruptly started howling with laughter, the room echoing with his loud, drunken guffaws. Eventually, Denmark quieted down enough to slide down to the floor and kick at Sweden’s ankle while he looked at him with fond amusement.

“Hell no, I never felt guilty,” Denmark said, still wiping tears out of the corners of his eyes, “I was the stronger nation and it’s not like it wasn’t what we were all doing back then. I’m not gonna apologize for being the one who held the power for a few centuries. Fuck, Norway would kick me in the balls if I tried to make-up now for some of the shit I pulled back in the day.”

Sweden leaned back against the armchair, trying to think through what Denmark had just told him, wondering how it was that he could act so boldy in his relationship with Norway considering all that had happened between them, surprised to find that he was drunk enough to risk Denmark’s mockery and ask the question that was swimming in his mind.

“How do you know what he thinks about it all? How he feels about you?” He mumbled, thankful that the liquor induced pinkness of his cheeks was hiding his flush.

Much to his chagrin, Denmark laughed again, taking another hearty shot of the booze before he answered, “Are you kidding me? It’s Norge. I don’t have a fucking clue what goes on in that head of his.”

“So you never worry that he doesn’t feel the way you do?” Sweden asked, immediately wishing he could take it back, realizing the stupidity of presuming a happy-go-lucky moron like Denmark ever worried about anything.

“Eh, I figure as long as he keeps coming around and sticking his hand down my pants, I’m doing alright,” Denmark slurred with a saucy wink before he paused to consider the question more seriously, “Look, I think it’s all well and fucking good to want to have things be better the second time around, but if I spent all my time trying to figure out whether or not Norge was bitter about some shit I did a hundred years ago, I’d never get laid.”

Sweden let his head thump against the chair, wanting to shake free from the clutches of intoxication, knowing he must be wasted if he was staring to think that Denmark made an awful lot of sense.

“Finland said something like that, too,” Sweden confessed, shutting his eyes, “when he was breaking up with me.”

Denmark nudged him with his foot and Sweden reluctantly opened his eyes again, meeting Denmark’s suddenly alert and surprising sober gaze.

“Look, you’re like a brother to me, and you brood more than anyone I know, so I'm going to take mercy on you and let you in on my great Danish secret for having a relationship…don’t tell Norge I called it that….with your former territory---let the past go, for fuck’s sake, and live in the here and now. Trust that if Finland still wants to fuck you after all the shit you’ve done, it’s probably because he really wants to. Give the man the benefit of the doubt that he can make up his own mind—even if ya did spend six centuries pretending you could do that for him.”

Sweden stared dumbfounded at Denmark, mouth gaping open as his mind tried to comprehend the wisdom that had just spilled from what he had always considered to be the most annoying and useless mouth in Scandinavia.

Denmark smirked and continued in a smug, knowing, voice, “And please for the pride of the Nordics, stop being such a wuss. If Finland’s holding out on you like he did with his little Euro drama, open your mouth and ask. Don’t be so afraid of the past that you screw up your future, brother of mine!”

A lightning bolt suddenly breaking through the roof and striking him directly in the heart would have shocked Sweden less than discovering that Denmark apparently held all the answers for which he had been so desperately and blindly searching.

 _Was it really that simple? Did he just need to let go of the past and trust in the present?_

For the first time in his two millennia on earth, Sweden wished he had come to Denmark sooner, wished he had been able to look outside of his own worries long enough to realize that no matter how irritating Denmark was pretty much all the time, there was likely no one else in the world who understood his current dilema better.

Maybe if he had…he wouldn’t be spending the day after Valentine’s Day drunk and alone on Denmark’s floor trying not to feel reluctantly impressed.

“Too late now,” Sweden said under his breath, unable to keep all the self-pity from his tone.

“Nah,” Denmark said cheerfully, “don’t you know by now that it’s never too late for anything? You can get him back!”

Despite the maudlin state brought on by the vast quantities of alcohol and his general disregard for any of Denmark’s assurances, Sweden’s heart still skipped a beat at the thought of Finland taking him back as countless plots of how to regain his love’s attention floated through his mind, each more fantastically unrealistic than the last.

Sweden scoffed and looked mournfully at the now empty bottle of akvavit, “How?”

As he struggled to his feet, swaying slightly as he went in pursuit of more booze, Denmark shrugged and called out over his shoulder, “Hell if I know, buddy! I usually skip figuring that shit out in favor persuading Norge into some awesome make-up sex. Or angry sex that turns into make-up sex. I’d much rather fuck it out than talk it out!”

Sweden rolled his eyes, regrettably all too familiar with Denmark and Norway’s special brand of love, comforted by the fact that they had once again returned to the status quo of Denmark being useless.

A belief that was only reaffirmed for Sweden when Denmark flopped back down on the ground, smacking his lips as he chugged away at a new beer, before grinning widely at Sweden and asking conspiratorially:

“So how was it when you finally got Finland back in the sack? I bet it was awesome…the first time after a long time is always the best.”

“None of your business,” Sweden grunted, wishing that Denmark would remember that not everyone was interested in sharing their sexual escapades with their nearest and dearest.

Denmark pouted at him momentarily before his drunk face went slack and his voice became wistful, “I remember the first time I got with Norge when he finally wised up and walked out on you.”

“I don’t want to know,” Sweden hurriedly insisted, kicking his shin to try to halt what was likely to become a disturbing jaunt down Denmark’s perverse memory lane.

It didn’t work.

Denmark rolled right over Sweden’s protests, eyelids falling to half-mast as he said, “I even remember the date…June 22, 1906…one of the best and freakiest, dirtiest, most awesome nights of my life. I didn’t even Norge was capable of some of the shit he pulled on me that time.”

Sweden backed away, horrified by the realization that he knew exactly which event Denmark was referring to, as he had also been present for the coronation of Norway’s first monarch in centuries.

He groaned, “Please tell me you didn’t do it in the church.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you!” Denmark answered shamelessly, smiling proudly as he continued, “But I will tell you that what we did that day…and that night… ranks in my top ten. God, I love reunion sex!”

Sweden glared at him disapprovingly, nauseated by the thought of having once again very likely been within 100 yards of the sealing of Danish-Norwegian relations.

Denmark was as unfazed as ever by Sweden’s death glare, eyes twinkling with mirth as he said, “Don’t look at me like that just ‘cause you’re jealous that I’ve got enough balls to take what’s offered to me! We can't all sit around pining like lovesick school girls!”

Deciding that he had received enough Danish advice for one lifetime, Sweden elected to ignore this statement in favor of struggling up off the ground to settle on the couch, already regretting the amount of liquor that was currently sloshing around in his gut.

The morning was going to be painful. But at least this time his stomach would hurt more than his heart as he felt tiny threads of hopeful resolve to get Finland back start to wind their away around the broken pieces.

He closed his eyes and tried to drown out Denmark’s continued rambling, “And what Norge has on offer is so good…fuck, I wish he were here right now! I could go for a little reenactment of 1906. Or 1945. Or last Thursday…”

Promising himself that he would think on all that Denmark had said the next morning, when his thoughts stood a chance of not drowning in booze, Sweden passed out to the dulcet sounds of Norway’s angry voice tearing Denmark a new one for drunk dialing him for phone sex at 2:30 in the morning.


	17. Chapter 17

_When did I get on a boat and head out to sea?_ Sweden thought blearily, trying to remember why his stomach was rolling back and forth like the tide and there were waves crashing inside his skull. Beyond that, his back hurt and his arms felt cramped, as though he had huddled up against the side of an unforgiving object for several hours. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool and tasted very much like the illicit distillery he had once visited in Finland's place during his people’s failed attempt at Prohibition.

All-in-all, he felt like death warmed over, nausea and headache making their presence more forcefully known as he inched closer to being fully awake, the temporary relief provided by sleep fading with every moment he resisted opening in his eyes and facing the day; but in spite of the sick feeling in his stomach and the throb of his temples, the band of hurt and anxiety that had been pulled tight across his chest every since his failed Valentine's had loosened enough that he now felt as though he could breathe.

That maybe, just maybe, he could get up and manage to reignite the embers of his relationship with Finland.

Embolden by wispy boozed soaked memories of an exuberant voice promising him that it was never too late to try and get someone back; Sweden dared to open his eyes, blinking into the pale early morning light of a Danish morning, coming face to face with the smooth fabric of Denmark's couch.

That explained why it felt like he had been sleeping in a shoebox. He really was getting too old to throw down with Denmark.

He groaned and rolled over to lay flat on his back, cracking his neck as he flung out a hand to fumble for his glasses, flinging away the almost empty bottle of the devil's poison that was currently wreaking such havoc on his delicate constitution.  
He stilled as he heard someone padding softly across the floor, unsuccessfully trying to squint and blink the blurred figure into clarity, until he slid his newly rediscovered glasses onto his nose, bringing the living room into sudden, sharp relief.

As his vision cleared, he felt very much the unintended voyeur, too tired and disoriented to look away, as his gaze fell upon the startlingly intimate sight of Norway bending down over Denmark's still sleeping form, sprawled without care on the smaller couch, and brushing his lips over his forehead while his fingers traced the lax shape of his lips.

Sweden flushed and looked away, feeling as though he had just intruded on something he was never supposed to see. He cleared his throat, hoping to make it clear to Norway that he was no longer alone in his moment of unguarded affection; only to have his suspicion that he ought not to have witnessed such a thing confirmed when he was struck in the face by the cold pages of a newspaper chucked at him from across the room.

Struggling to sit up and glare at the same time, Sweden pulled the offending pages from his face, wondering why he merited such a harsh wake-up call. Norway merely stared back with frigid inscrutability, all his momentary warmth gone as he perched delicately by Denmark's side giving nothing away.

The silent staring contest lasted for several long moments, disrupted only by Denmark's snuffling snores as he curled into Norway's side, which in turn caused Norway's cheeks to go slightly pink and led to Sweden snorting and rolling his eyes.

“Sealand?” He grunted as he swung his legs over the side of the couch, rubbing his hands over his head in an attempt to smooth away the fog of too much alcohol and not enough sleep compounded by the constant churning of Denmark’s advice in his thoughts.

“Kitchen,” Norway answered tersely before shoving away the Danish hand that had started to creep into his lap, looking at the bottles littering the floor with disdain as he asked, “And did you find enlightenment in the bottom of the bottle?”

Sweden eyed his still slumbering drinking partner as he thought in spite of the current chaos in his mind, the pressing weight on his heart seemed to have lessened, buoyed by a renewed sense of hope, shrugging his shoulders as he returned Norway's knowing gaze, “Maybe.”

He stood slowly, intent on retrieving his wayward child and returning to the comfort of his own home, where he could nurse his hangover and spend as much time as he wanted contemplating all that Denmark had told him without Norway's disconcerting scrutiny.

His progress was halted by Norway's shocking words that followed the abandoned newspaper once again striking him in the back of the head: “As comforted as I am by the revelation that Big Brother Denmark’s unique brand of hard-won and limited wisdom has eased your worried little heart, I'd like to offer you a touch of reality to go along with the shiny new future about which you’re currently daydreaming.”

Gripping the projectile in his large hands, Sweden turned to find Norway standing in front of the yet unmoved Denmark, arms crossed over his chest as he looked at Sweden with what likely passed for his version of vague concern.

Sweden grunted and nodded his head, trying to figure out when he had stepped into this bizarre world where he saw Denmark treated with affection and his problems deemed worthy of Norway's attention.

“Being the lovesick fool that you are, I imagine that when you rode off into the sunset to save Finland from Germany's wrath you neglected to consider the larger consequences of your actions,” Norway said softly, words tinged with cold bemusement.

Sweden bristled, uninterested in being on the receiving end of further derision for his poorly executed decision to intervene in Finland's affairs, shooting Norway a warning glance, shifting impatiently on his feet.

The corners of Norway's lips tilted downwards as he continued speaking, gaze sliding over to rest on Denmark’s snoring face, “You made the choice that a man would make, forgetting that we have responsibilities and duties beyond our heart's desires…which are frequently stupid and illogical.”

He nodded reluctantly in response, recalling that all his thoughts in those weeks of hoarding information had been driven solely by his anxious feelings, the nervous and needy affection that he wanted so badly to have Finland return.

He froze under the sudden return of Norway's intense stare and the urgency of his words, “None of us have the luxury of being just beholden to our desires. Man and nation, devotion and duty. Professional and personal. If this great waste of Danish space can manage to separate the two, I would expect at least as much of you, Sweden.”

“What exactly you trying to tell me?” Sweden asked in quiet shock, unprepared for this sudden burst of advice from his sullen neighbor, unaware that Norway was capable of speech that wasn't littered with derisive riddles and barbed disinterest.

Norway sniffed and looked pointedly at the crumpled paper in Sweden's hand, voice bored as he returned, “Tell you? Nothing you shouldn't already know. But if you have a moment to spare from brooding and committing reckless acts of idiocy, you might consider reading the paper and remembering who you are.”

“The paper?” Sweden mumbled, mystified as he turned the sheets over in his hands, eyes widening as he scanned the headline of the business section that boldly proclaimed the EU's angry rejection of Finland's bail-out plan. His stomach turned over as he quickly skimmed the text; worry growing as he learned of the very serious fight that was starting to brew over the controversial plan, knowing that this was going to make for an inevitable confrontation among the EU nations…of which he was one.

There was no escaping it this time. Whether Finland wanted it or not, he was now going to have weigh in on the whole debacle.

“What I am supposed to do?” He breathed out, looking up again at Norway, who was watching him with cool curiosity.

“Figure it out yourself,” Norway said, waving a hand dismissively as if to signal that he had grown weary of Sweden’s love life and Sweden had to wonder if it was he and Denmark had made an earlier agreement to feed him just enough advice to get all the gears in his mind whirring and then refuse to provide any concrete direction.

 _We’ll tell you what to do but not how to do it!_

Annoyed and perplexed, Sweden abandoned any thought he had of trying to press Norway for answers, determined instead to return to his previously interrupted plan of taking Sealand and retreating to Stockholm to ponder his next move, figuring that he might bring in the kid for a consult as he'd proven remarkably adept at navigating the turbulent waters of centuries old romances.

“Before you show yourself out,” Norway drawled caustically at Sweden's turned back, “you might say thank you.”

“For what?” Sweden grunted through gritted teeth, refusing to give Norway the satisfaction of seeing how rattled he was by the morning headlines, business and politics once again intertwining so dangerously with the personal.

Norway laughed lowly even as Sweden continued to walk from the room, his answer echoing in his ears as he moved away from this den of recent iniquity, “For reminding you that as...freeing...as it is to let go of all the nasty little things you did to poor, sweet, Finland when you were once the great Sweden, we none of us yet have the luxury of escaping the difficult choices that remain to us in the present.”

The reminder burned like acid in his mouth, washing away the lingering sweetness of Denmark's happy, if crude, encouragement and Sweden tried to resist the urge to strike at Norway until the harsh lines of his cruel smirk slid from his face, turning around once again with the intention of reminding Norway exactly why it was he was once so feared, only to be stopped in his tracks by the unexpected softening of his companion's eyes and the gentling of his voice as he said:

“Make the right choices this time. And let Finland make his as he will. It may all work out in the end…not that I care, mind you.”

Sweden nodded sharply once, saying nothing as he swallowed back the harsh and angry words that had threatened to spill from his tongue, resolutely leaving the room before Norway could undo him further, countless thoughts and worries and hopes swimming in the tired and yet tireless sea of his mind.

  
“So,” Sweden said with not a small hint of desperation, “how should I get Finland to take me back?”

Mercifully, Sealand abruptly stopped in the middle of his non-stop forty-five minute rave about the amazing awesomeness of Norway’s longboats to stare at his Papa with open wonder and astonishment.

“Really? You want my help?” Sealand gushed happily and Sweden felt a momentary twinge of guilt that he was using his love troubles to distract his teenage son from waxing more poetic about the glories of the Vikings.

“Of course,” Sweden reassured him, unable to take it back now that he had witnessed the Sealand’s surprised pleasure at being included in what he undoubtedly thought of as a “grown-up” thing.

Sealand settled into the front seat, humming thoughtfully with his fingers steepled under his chin, signaling his deep contemplation of this very important question. Sweden actually found that he was growing increasingly more agitated as he waited for Sealand’s answer, feeling his anticipation increase with every considering, “hmm” or “ahhh” noise that his son made while pondering this great matter.

He should have known that Sealand’s mischievous personality would trump his burgeoning seriousness, but was too sleep-deprived and mind-weary to really be adequately prepared for the barely suppressed laughter in Sealand’s voice as he finally made his suggestion:

“Well….how about you wait until a dark and stormy night in which you’ll chase after his cab that’s making its way towards the airport, about to leave you forever, and when you manage to catch him, then you sing a song about your feelings while standing in the rain until he interrupts you, crying, to tell you, _You had me at hello_. Then you will kiss and live happily ever after.”

Sweden tried not to run the car off the road as he gaped in disbelief until Sealand’s smirk melted into a full blown smile and the interior of the car shook with his raucous laughter.

“No.” Sweden answered flatly, though unable to keep his lips from twitching in reluctant amusement, grateful for the sudden silliness dispelling another layer of his cloudy worries, reminding him that love had been a real bitch to deal with throughout history.

“Nah, that only works in the movies anyways,” Sealand said through his giggles, wrinkling his nose as Sweden reached over to ruffle his hair.

Sweden started when Sealand settled down and his voice turned serious, “What about telling him you’re sorry for messing up, but explaining that you did it because you were worried and wanted to help?”

“Um,” Sweden managed lamely, wanting to shrink away from Sealand’s suddenly critical gaze.

He growled in mock annoyance as Sealand struck at him with his small, balled up fists and said exasperatedly, “Jeez, Papa, isn’t that what you’re always telling me to do when I mess up? Say I’m sorry and promise to do better next time?”

“You’re right,” Sweden admitted with no small amount of chagrin before he sighed low and soft, “but you have to understand its more-”

“Say complicated and I’ll jump out of the car!” Sealand interrupted dramatically, “What’s so complicated about opening your mouth and saying what’s on your mind?”

 _“The possibility that  even if he does miraculously want to talk to me and take me back, I may have to tell Finland his plan sucks in front of the rest of the European Union nations?”_ Sweden thought ruefully, though he decided that such things were not meant for micro-nation ears even as he acquiesced to Sealand’s larger point.

“So you think I should call him?” Sweden asked, tapping his fingers nervously against the steering wheel, remembering how many times  he’d wanted to reach out and speak to his erstwhile former territory, thinking of the box of letters that he’d written in the past decades as he watched Finland weather crisis after crisis, too shy and reluctant to offer his heart on a platter for fear of being a burden or being rejected out of hand.

“Duh,” Sealand scoffed, “What else are you going to do? Wait around for another two centuries for him to make the first move? Or for your kid to help you ask him out on dates?”

Flushing, Sweden attempted to defend himself, “That’s not how it was…”

“Whatever, Papa,” Sealand said fondly, clearly unimpressed by Sweden’s mumbled protests, “I found all those letters you wrote when I was rummaging through the attic for more badass Viking gear…I know how long you sat around wishing you could tell him how you feel.”

Now almost scarlet with the embarrassment of thinking of any eyes other than Finland’s tracing over the words he’d written with all the love in his tired and yearning heart, Sweden growled, “You should know better than to read things that don’t belong to you. Those were private.”

Slightly chastised, Sealand’s eyes softened as he reached to pat Sweden‘s arm in apologetic comfort, “I know, Papa. But they were really nice. Why didn’t you ever send them?”

Looking straight ahead at the road, Sweden remembered how often he’d walked to the mailbox with the letters in hand, knowing that while Finland had warmed up enough in the years following his independence to speak to Sweden, their hesitant relationship teetering on the edge of friendship, his worried heart whispered that his love would be unwelcome.

“Didn’t think he’d want to hear those kinds of things from me back then.”

Sealand sighed and squeezed Sweden’s arm, asking quietly, “And now?”

For several moments the car was quiet but for the sound of the tires on the road and the low buzz of the radio, as Sweden realized that during those brief torrid weeks of happy reunion, he’d never once dared to ask Finland how he felt or what he wanted, so wary of ruining the delicate newness of it all. He hadn’t even asked when it was all falling apart.

Sweden cleared his throat and answered, “Don’t know.”

“Don’t you want to know? After all these years?” Sealand asked insistently and Sweden thought about it long and hard, wondering if it was finally time to put all his cards on the line and see if he could walk away a winner if he gave Finland the chance to let make his choices once he had heard all that Sweden had so long needed to say.

 _To forgive or not forgive._

 _To be together or apart._

 _To love or not love._

“Guess I do. No time like the present.”

Sealand smiled so brightly and warmly that Sweden blinked twice and wondered what he had done to engender such open and undiluted affection.

“Well, then, Papa, I think you have a phone call to make.”


	18. Chapter 18

Still nursing a headache and a slightly queasy stomach, Sweden decided to wait until he had all his wits about him before approaching Finland. He sent Sealand off to amuse himself, settling down on his bed with the boxes of letters he only ever looked at in moments of total sentimentality.

Or when he was adding a new one to the collection.

It made him flush uncomfortably to think that his son had read these missives, these pleading, admiring, yearning expressions of his feelings. (He was infinitely glad that it appeared that Sealand had not stumbled upon the much smaller cache of letters that he kept hidden away in the darkest reaches of the attic...the reminders of those few times when drunk and desperate he had indulged in writing down those thoughts and fantasies that had him waking up panting and hard in the middle of the night, wanting to purge himself of such weakness).

But for all that it was embarrassing, Sealand's confident, easy assurance that they were nice, that anyone would want to know that they were so loved, made Sweden wonder if perhaps the time had finally come to give these letters to their rightful owner.

To trust Finland enough to let him in all the long-kept secrets of his heart before he asked Finland if he would ever be interested in doing the same....

 _January, 1815_

Dear Finland,

I am breaking the veil of silence that we have held between us, as expansive and cold as the sea that parts our lands, to send you my best wishes for the new year.

Doubtless word of my new union has reached your shores...I cannot imagine what your reaction will have been. Once upon a time, I would have believed that I knew all the secrets of your heart, would have foolishly thought that there was no corner of your mind that was not open to me, and I would have chosen to believe that you would not want me so joined with another, that you would have come to me in jealous supplication demanding that I remain yours and yours alone.

For this was (and is) what I would do for you, should you have come to me one day and told me that you were to give yourself to another.

But now...now that my misplaced and ill conceived anger has faded, now that all that remains is my awareness of all my failures and faults that have led me to this empty place of loss and yearning...

I cannot fathom how you would react.

Perhaps you would rage and call me names that I am certain I deserve.

Perhaps you would weep. (Please do not, my darling, were it possible I would have it so that I was never again the cause of your sadness. The memory of your unhappiness tastes bitterly in my mouth.)

Perhaps you would not care at all...and when I think this may be true, when I imagine that you might read such news and laugh or shrug...

I have no right to desire your affection, your consideration, or even the time you may grant me to read these words I should have said to you everyday that you were mine, but I remain a selfish man and I confess that I have dreamed of your face so many nights that I feel as though I am haunted.

Now there is nothing left, no vengeful hurt pride driving me forward to make such choices, no more anger, no blind need to fill the void that your departure has left in me...

All I have are dreams and memories and the phantom feeling of your touch in the morning.

And a union that neither party wants.

He is not you.

(How could I have been so foolish as to think that anyone could take your place? Know that I regret that almost most of all...that I failed so utterly to understand what you meant to me, the depth of my feeling and regard for you, all of your wondrous uniqueness, the way you seemed to fit so entirely within the span of my arms...that I betrayed these precious feelings, betrayed what I know now to be my love for you because of petty, jealous, despair.)

And now, now that it is too late, now that you are walking down your path guided by the strength of another, now I know that it is not your forests nor your shores nor your armies that have always mattered so much to me...

I miss the shape of your eyes and the tilt of your smile and the generous warmth of your spirit and way my name sounded when you whispered it in your sleep.

 ~~Do you miss me too?~~

I should have treasured every part of you when you were by my side, but now all I can do is endure and wait and hope that perhaps one day your path will lead you back to my door, where I promise I will always welcome you with open arms.

 _~Sweden_

  
 _June, 1984_

Finland,

It is hard to believe that I have been writing these letters to you for more than 150 years---I now have boxes of these, all my poorly expressed feelings signed, sealed, and never delivered.

Every time I turn pen to paper, I tell myself that this time I will do it, I will actually send you what I have written..and every time I find some excuse, some reason to simply slide the letter into an envelope and store it in my attic with all the other remnants of my past.

I wonder at the ease with with which I choose to relegate my still unyielding love for to you to the dusty rooms of history, why I continue to engage in this seemingly futile exercise of spilling forth all the thoughts that never can quite make it past the barrier of my lips if I am so certain that all the affection you may have once felt for me is as long gone and better forgotten as my Viking shield.

And still I cannot help myself, least of all when I spend days looking across a conference table at your smile and listening to the proud lilt of your voice, when you speak to me with such unreserved happiness, putting your hand on my wrist as though it were nothing but familiarity and friendship, I cannot help but give way to the rushing want in my heart.

I watch you drink coffee in the morning as we gather once again in some nondescript hotel (our lives have become so mundane—we work, we sleep, we float along the periphery of our people's politics, relegated by the force of democracy to be just one among many, so much so that I sometimes think we are almost free to live as men and men alone) and I wonder what it would be like to share a quiet moment like this with you in my kitchen.

To wake up and have nothing more pressing to do than bring coffee to your bedside and watch you wake up, slow and soft and smile just for me.

These thoughts, these daydreams, they are what keep me awake at night now...I think I must be getting old and staid, comforted by stability, to want something so simple...

And in so many ways, this new daydream of mine, it is this most bittersweet of them all...because now I think we are just free enough to have share such a small and quiet life, that we could just be together...

And yet I know that this letter and this fantasy of mine, (both of which I should rightly share with you, risk it all on the possibility that you might harbor such dreams, too...), will both remain unsent and unrealized, gathering dust on my attic floor.

 _-Sweden_

 _November, 1943_

Finland-

I write this to you as I stand in the hallway of a hotel I shall not name in my great city, watching the shadows that pass in the night, ensuring that none have the malicious desire to discover what is taking place no more than two doors down. They are here—the others who were once Kalmar---I offer them what cover neutrality can provide, a place to hide and speak without the occupiers breathing down their necks.

(How times change. Two hundred years ago I wouldn't have spit on D or N to save them from a fire, but now here we are, all bound together in this global fight and I am playing babysitter while they get...reacquainted.)

I had not expected to receive such a request from N, who came to me from the forests where my people train his...police...asking that I assist D in coming here, in secreting them away from Prussia and Germany's far too watchful eyes. But I understand now, I understand because I have seen the stark relief that broke through the almost implacable apathy of N's coldness, so unexpected in its fervency...

I expect that were you to walk through the doors of this place, my face would look much the same. We have not heard from you in many weeks and I worry endlessly. I know that when I see you again, I will feel the same desperate joy that was so obvious in D's eyes when he saw N.

Even if you never look upon me with anything more than casual indifference.

I will still light inside to know that you are alive. That if I dared I could touch you and be reassured by the heat of your skin and the beating of your heart.

As a nation, I wish that I had more to give you, that I could do more than watch a handful of soldiers march to your front, that my voice could weigh like it once did in the court of public opinion, but such are the frustrations of living in democracy.

But rest assured that I will take care of your children, Finland. I swear it.

I know that it has never been easy between us, and that in these recent years I have let you down, that the choices of our leaders and our need to do what we feel is right for people may have made it seem that I do not care for you as I once did. That my nation does not care for you as it once did.

But know that if you asked it of me as a man, I would keep all your many secrets, too, just as I will keep our brothers'. If you asked it of me, I would bring you here and hide you from the world, from harm and strife.

If you asked it of me, I would come to your side, I would wait in those trenches with you even if I all I could offer was my warmth in the cold.

If you asked it of me, I would give you all that I have.

Be safe, be well, ~~my love~~ my friend.

 _~Sweden_

 _March, 1836_

Finland,

Thank you for your unexpected gift of Mr. Lonnrot's newest book.I have been reading the Kalevala and I write to offer you my congratulations on such a fine piece of poetry. ~~It would seem that Norway was right and that Russia is better for you than I ever was.~~

You should be very proud of what your people have written. It is truly an homage to the timeless beauty that is your land and a testament to the power of your language.

Norway tells me that many of your people have decided to change their surnames from Swedish to Finnish. I am glad to hear that you are growing so strong and sure in your identity.

 ~~Does it pain you to have to so many memories of what I wrought in your country? Would you wish to erase it all? The laws, the language, the ties that have bound us together for so long, the last vestiges I can look to that tell me are not forever divided?~~

I thank you for sending me such a generous gift. Rest assured I shall treasure it always.

Sincerely,

 _Sweden_

 _July, 1952_

You were breathtaking tonight. In all our years together and the all these years apart, there have seldom been moments when you have been more beautiful, more lovely, more heartbreaking than you were today, as you welcomed the world to your city...the pride and joy in your eyes, I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to see you so satisfied, so sure, and so safe after these decades of calamity and doubt.

My darling, my love, my dearest unspoken wish, the curve of your smile and the wonder in your eyes as the Flame was lit...I will carry these with me in my heart forever, a reminder than there is always something beyond darkness...that you will always be able to rise again and I will always be waiting to watch you reemerge.

If you knew, if I could tell you what it does to me to see you once again as you ought to have always been...

I wish that I were brave enough to reach out my hand to brush against the vibrancy of your flame, to ask to be allowed to share in the warmth of your triumph, but, my love, tonight it is enough to know that you are celebrated, that you are cherished, that I have had the pleasure of seeing all of this in your eyes.

 _~Sweden_

 _1960_

Finland,

Take your people back from my cities, from my towns, from my bars and stores and churches and restaurants. Take them back, take them back, not because I begrudge any citizen of yours the need to come take employment here, but because it is a constant tease to hear your language echoing in my ears everywhere I go, reminding me of you and how everyone from your land seems to want to come and be a part of me but you.

I've been drinking to try to forget how I often I hear my name in your language and how I go to bed at night how it would sound coming from your lips when I was inside of you, or when I had you in my mouth, down my throat.

Would it sound different? How would it feel to have all those filthy things you used to whisper in my ear in syllables all of your own? What words would you say to me now if you were on your back or on your knees? Would you tease and taunt and tempt me with new tricks of your tongue?

What would you do if I whispered back in my poor man's attempt at speaking your language? If I were to tell _Suomi_ how much I loved him in my bad Finnish, would you tell me you loved me in return?

 _-Ruotsi_

 _January, 2012_

Finland,

You have just left my bed, my home and I have no idea how this has happened, how you came to rest in my arms last night and kiss me like you meant it, but I will do whatever I can this time to make sure that you are happy, that you will want to stay.

Tell me what to do. Tell me what it is that I've done to make you look at me after all these years of me looking at you. So I can keep it doing it.

I need to tell you so many things, there are so many words and worries and wants in my mind right now (though it is a miracle that I can think of anything but what we did last night) that I'm overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all.

But now that I have the chance, this unexpected opportunity, I should say the one thing I have been wanting to say since I finally figured out why it was that it felt like I was missing a limb when Russia took you from me:

I love you.

 ~~Writing it is not the same as saying it and I feel that I should wait and not scare you away with all my ridiculous pent-up feelings, shouldn't burden you with the boxes of my repressed longing..that maybe the last thing you want is my love, that maybe this was only a fling and I still have no idea what feelings are in your heart and what you want from me.~~

Yours Always,

 _Sweden_

  
Sweden sighed as he finished this last, most recent letter, realizing that he had already been setting himself up for failure from the outset by giving so much credence to his doubt; by wanting so badly to fuel to the fire of whatever had reignited their relationship, that hand in hand, he and Finland had managed to extinguish it without a word.

In their brief rekindled courtship, neither had said anything of importance, adding countless unspoken, unwritten letters to Sweden's boxed of suppressed hopes and dreams.

He looked at the pile of letters, spanning so many years and so much history, knowing that within these pages were all the truths he had so long needed to speak, determined to break the pattern once and for all. To shine light one last time on the past in the hopes of better illuminating their chances for a future.

 _February 16, 2012_

Dear Finland,

I don't know if you will want to hear anything from me after what happened on Valentine's Day, but I have to try, because I have found that saying nothing has caused us both pain.

I am sending you these letters because they belong to you. They always have been yours and I am sorry that it has taken me so long to realize that I should never have denied us both the opportunity to tell our truths.

Even if your truths turn out to be ones I do not want to hear.

You owe me nothing. I give you these letters and the feelings contained within them freely, with no expectation that they will be returned.

But I want you to know me and know yourself through my eyes.

How for as long as I have been smart enough to look, you have been the sole focus of my attention.

You are my love.

 _~Sweden_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1815: Sweden's union with Norway  
> 1984: Just a random year in which nothing of import was happening. Stability and prosperity and all that good stuff.  
> 1943: WWII. Finland was fighting with the USSR in the Continuation War. Many children from Finland were sent to live in Sweden (and Denmark, Norway as well). In spite of their neutrality, the Swedes helped train Norwegian resistance fighters under the guide of training police. Denmark didn't start concerted resistance movements until later, and I like to think that Denmark looked to Norway for advice/guidance (that's my own headcanon and perfect excuse to write angsty fic about it)  
> 1836: Year following the publication of Finland's great national epic poem--the Kalevala, which was part of what sparked the growing sense of national identity in Finland, particularly over language.  
> 1952: Summer Olympics held in Helsinki  
> 1960: Many Finns immigrated to Sweden to take advantage of Sweden's booming economy during the 1950-1960s. Also excuse for pronz.


	19. Chapter 19

“Are you getting ready to leave, Papa?” Sealand asked while draping himself over the top of the couch, casting a critical eye over Sweden's carefully chosen outfit.

Sweden nodded and wiped his palms on his jeans, trying to hide his obvious nervousness from Sealand's far too knowing gaze. He turned to look in the small hallway mirror, wishing that the circles under his eyes were less dark and pronounced, but between the burgeoning crisis in the EU financial system and wondering if Finland had received his letters, sleep had become a precious commodity in the past week.

“Don't worry, you look great,” Sealand said encouragingly, though Sweden could tell that he, too, was feeling anxious about and he felt an answering twinge of guilt that his son was so tied up in his personal drama, so clearly worried about him.

Sealand ambled over from the couch to stand in front of him, eyebrows furrowing as he brushed imaginary lint from Sweden's coat and said sternly, “Do you remember everything we talked about?”

Stifling the urge to sigh, Sweden tried not to remember all of the many, many hours Sealand had devoted since the Valentine's Day debacle to assisting his father in his quest to get back into Finland's good graces. Sealand had approached what he deemed, “ _Operation Get Finland to Take Us Back_ ,” with all the enthusiasm he had shown for Vikings and violence, showering Sweden with a constant stream of suggestions, ideas, orders, and even assigned homework of watching as many classic romance movies as possible.

Sweden peered down at the messy mop of hair in front of him, placing his hands on Sealand's shoulders as he answered, “You mean all your helpful directions?”

“That's right,” Sealand said brightly, smiling up at Sweden, “First, apologies. Then, you remind him of all the reasons to love you, of which the cuteness of me is certainly one...”

“Of course,” Sweden interjected, squeezing Sealand's shoulders, “But Finland cares about you whether or not he wants to be with me, you know that right?”

“Duh,” Sealand said, even though the flush on his cheeks betrayed his doubts, making Sweden's heart ache, “But we want him to want to be with BOTH of us. We're a package deal, you and me. You know that, right? That I've got your back no matter how today goes. I'll always be on your side!”

“You're a good boy, Sealand,” Sweden murmured thickly, flooded with affection as Sealand smiled up at him with such happy confidence.

“Anyways, step two is to remind him of all the great things that come as part of the Sweden-Sealand combo deal,” Sealand continued, stepping back from Sweden's grasp to hand him his coat and umbrella to guard against the driving rain.

“And step three?” Sweden asked wryly, checking his watch and patting his pockets for his phone.

Sealand shuffled after him, chattering on, “Step three, if you get the chance, is definitely the romantic gesture. From all our studies, the guy always got the girl back after saying sorry and then doing some ridiculously romantic. Its practically a foolproof plan.”

Sweden nodded gravely, trying to keep his smile under wraps as he opened the door to leave, bidding Sealand farewell.

“Good luck, Papa! I'm cheering for you!” Sealand yelled out as Sweden released his umbrella and stepped into the rain.

  
As he drove through the downpour, Sweden tried to continue Sealand's pep-talk in his mind, feeling only half as confident as his son that the outcome of this date with Finland would be what he hoped. A week ago he had swallowed his fears and placed an envelope filled with almost two hundred years of his hidden heart in the post, knowing that with that action he had no choice but to risk it all and pick up the phone to ask Finland to see him once more, to give him a chance to explain, to make it right.

He'd been surprised when Finland had answered, voice tired and distant, but not without warmth as he'd listened to Sweden's stumbling, jumbled request.

“Yes, we should talk. I think there are things we both need to say to one another,” Finland had said softly and Sweden had been so startled by the easy acceptance that he'd not thought to wonder if perhaps these things Finland needed to say to him might be the very things he had spent so many years not wanting to hear until after they had set a time and place to meet and ended the call.

He had known that when they met again in five days, there would be no chance that Finland would not have received his letters, that there would be no going back from all that he had laid bare, and the thought of feeling so exposed was both terrifying and liberating.

 _Much like being in love._

He had spent the intervening days before the date going over all that had happened in the past few, crazy, wonderful, and painful months, turning over all gentle and not so gentle advice from his family in his mind, parsing words and actions, trying to gauge the chances of his success...trying to figure out exactly what to say.

And now, as he pulled into the parking lot of the tiny coffee shop, all Sweden knew for certain was that he would speak, he would say all the many things he'd held back out of fear, out of kindness, out of arrogance and hope that Finland would understand.

  
After shedding his rain coat and wiping droplets from glasses, Sweden looked about the small space, feeling his heart jump when he spotted Finland sitting near the fogged window, staring out as his fingers drummed against the table. For a quiet moment, he just looked, admiring the way that Finland seemed bright and beckoning even when the skies were a terrible gray and the room empty and austere. He always had been the most arresting thing Sweden had ever seen, from the first moment in a snow drift more than a thousand years ago, to this wet February afternoon in an unimportant coffee shop.

Taking a one last deep breath, he made his feet move until they brought him to Finland's side, looming uncomfortably over the table and clearing his throat to break Finland's deep contemplation of the Swedish countryside. The small curve of Finland's smile, even though tired and hesitant, as he turned and murmured hello and gestured for him to sit was a balm to the rawness of Sweden's nerves, soothing the dark whispers that insisted that he'd only been asked here to be dismissed once and for all.

He shuffled into his seat, unable to keep from staring, wondering how it was that Finland seemed as anxious and unsettled as he felt, wishing that Finland would meet his eyes for more than a second at a time before casting his gaze on anything but him. He marveled at the pink blush on Finland's cheeks and the non-stop tapping of his foot under the table, curiously comforted by the fact that he was not alone in this place of awkward hesitance.

“Um, I got your letters,” Finland said softly blush deepening considerably as he still looking anywhere but where Sweden most wanted.

Sweden felt his own cheeks warm and his stomach tighten, answering slowly, “I'm glad. Hope you don't mind that I sent them.”

Finland shook his head, biting his lip, “No, they were lovely. Lovely and overwhelming. I had no idea...all those years...I don't really know what to say...”

Sweden reached out a hand to still the increasingly drumming of Finland's fingers, murmuring, “You don't have to say anything. They weren't meant to make you feel obligated. I just thought it was finally time to give you what should have been yours all along.”

Finland turned his hand over to press his palm to Sweden's, surprising him into stillness as he said, “I think you must love me too much.”

Taking a chance, Sweden brushed his thumb over the racing pulse of Finland's wrist, answering with quiet insistence, “Not possible.”

“I hardly deserve all those wonderful things you wrote,” Finland said in a hushed voice and Sweden could not keep his countenance, could not keep from interrupting.

“You do. And more. I should have said all of it to you years ago, should have told you everything when I had the chance. And I'm sorry I didn't. ” He said fervently, feeling as though a dam had broken and there was no way to keep all these feelings and explanations and protestations from tumbling forth like the rain pouring from the sky.

“And I'm sorry for interfering in your work and invading your privacy and making you feel as though I don't respect you. There is no one I respect more,” Sweden said seriously as Finland's smiled slipped into a frown.

He paused, dipping his head down to avoid the sudden intensity of Finland's gaze, swallowing before he raised his head once more, meeting Finland's eyes as he said quietly, “Most of all, I'm sorry that I didn't trust in us enough and that I hurt you because of my own guilt and doubt.”

“Oh, Sweden,” Finland said with such unexpected sweetness that Sweden wanted to lace their fingers together and press a kiss to each one.

“I'm sorry, too,” Finland said earnestly, taking Sweden completely off-guard and making him shake his head and answer gruffly,

“What? You've got nothing to be sorry for.”

“Oh, Sweden,” Finland said again, though this time with less affection and more frustration, “We're never going to get anywhere if you put me on such an untouchable pedestal where I can do no wrong.”

Sweden's heart caught immediately onto the fact that Finland seemed to be implying that they had somewhere they could go together, before his mind chimed in that Finland had just said that they would not be able to go anywhere if he kept absolving Finland of having any agency.

He pulled Finland's hand into his own as he said with low urgency, “I promise to take you off that pedestal. I want you by my side, shoulder to shoulder as equals, it just that I've done so many things that I regret that its hard for me not to want to protect you, to take care of you.”

Finland smiled a little, “I know. And sometimes its nice to be taken care of, to be let off the hook. And, yes, you messed up, and I'm still mad at you for going through my personal papers and going behind my back to Germany...”

Sweden opened his mouth to apologize again, only to shut it firmly when Finland cast him a stern glance and kept speaking, “But, as was firmly pointed out to me by several...friends.. I shouldn't have kept it all a secret from you in the first place, especially since I do know just how hard it is for you to NOT feel responsible for my happiness. I should have told you how I felt instead of holding it over your head and making you worry. I hurt you, too, because of my bitterness and fear, and I'm sorry.”

Sweden just stared for a moment, so overwhelmed by everything word that Finland had said that the first question that popped out of his mouth was, “You got lectured, too?”

Finland laughed and Sweden's heart tripped at the sound of it, feeling as though the whole of the future was spinning out in front of him with Finland's hand wrapped in his and the echo of his laughter in his ears.

“Oh, yes! I got quite the talking to from Estonia and from Norway.” Finland said with an amused sigh.

Sweden arched a skeptical eyebrow, “Norway? That's surprising.”

Finland tapped a finger to his lips, pausing thoughtfully, “I thought so, too, at first...he so rarely reveals an interest in anything or anyone, but thinking back on it now, it makes a lot of sense. There aren't many others who likely understand my hopes and fears as well he does, for all that he pretends he doesn't adore Denmark.”

“What did he say to you?” Sweden asked, remembering the harsh medicine Norway had given him, hoping that he had been gentler with Finland.

Finland looked at him with such open fondness that Sweden's breath caught as he said, “He told me, and I quote, that while he sympathized with the difficulty of being saddled with the unfortunate affliction of having feelings for idiotic and blind former conquering nations, I can hardly expect you to not try to fix the past if I won't let go of it. That it is unfair of me to hold you to one set of standards and me to another. That if I choose you, I have to really choose you, without reservation.”

Sweden blinked, wondering exactly when the hell Norway had become of his defenders, “He said that?”

Finland winked and smirked, “Well, he also said that you were a helpless, lovesick, and guilt-ridden fool.”

Sweden snorted, “That sounds more like him.”

Finland giggled again before his voice became more serious, causing Sweden to sit up and listen as he took a deep breath and said, “And that it was my sad lot in life, should I choose to carry such a burden, to be the responsible, intelligent one in our relationship.”

The room fell silent but for the rushing sound of the rain falling against the windows, the empty little cafe gone suddenly still as Sweden felt everything narrow to the question that lingered unasked in the air between them, hanging in the balance.

Sweden closed his eyes and breathed out, “And do you? Choose me?”

His eyes opened again as he felt the touch of lips ghosting across his forehead and the whisper of an answer on his skin as Finland murmured, “I do.”

“I promise that it will be different this time, that I can move beyond the past, that I can trust in the present, in the here and now, if you're with me.” Sweden said with quiet disbelieving happiness, warmed through by the calm sweetness of Finland's smile as he settled back into his seat.

“Let's just promise to be better to each other. Even if it takes us a long time to figure it out, even if we mess up, I know that if we both try, if we both look to the future, we'll get there...together.” Finland answered and Sweden thought that the word together had never sounded as good, nodding his head and bringing Finland's hand to lips to indulge in the kiss he'd been wanting to give since they first touched palms.

 _“Sealand is going to be so happy,_ ” Sweden thought contentedly as Finland peered at him through his eyelashes, blushing as Sweden kissed each of his knuckles.

“Come home with me tonight?” Sweden blurted without thinking, rushing to explain as Finland started laughing, “For dinner, for a drink, for just five minutes...I know Sealand would love to see you again.”

“Of course! I'd love to see him, too,” Finland said with such affection that Sweden wished he knew what he had done to be so fortunate, making a silent vow that he would do all that he could to preserve the happiness of this moment, to build on this foundation something that was strong and sturdy enough to shelter all three of them from any storm.

“I'm glad. He's been very...concerned...about this whole thing.” Sweden mumbled as he pushed away from the table without letting go of Finland's hand, breaking their connection only to help him into his coat and hold open the door, protecting them both from the weather under his umbrella.

“Oh, I'm sure he's been very helpful!” Finland said laughingly over the sound of the rain as he huddled in close to Sweden's side.

As the rain fell down around them, a steady deluge of winter's displeasure, Sweden suddenly thought of Sealand's Step Three, knowing that what he was about to do was ridiculous and absurd, but too caught up in the bliss of finding that he had the chance of having his love requited to care.

He was a man in love and men in love did ridiculously romantic things like kiss their lovers in the rain.

And so he tossed the umbrella to the ground and took a surprised Finland into his arms, leaning down to whisper, “I know you said we should take it slow, but there's something I have to do right now or I will never forgive myself,” before softly touching his lips to Finland's.

The kiss was wet and cold, but when Finland's mouth parted in a satisfied, happy sigh, Sweden thought he had never been warmer, gathering Finland so close that his feet almost left the ground as they embraced in an ugly parking lot in the pouring rain.

Eventually, he felt Finland shiver against him and he pulled away slowly, rubbing his thumb over the redness of Finland's lips as he reached down to pick up the umbrella and lead them to their cars. He indulged in one more kiss as Finland settled into his car, feeling as though there was nothing that could make his heart fuller nor his mind happier, until Finland rolled down the window as he made to drive away and said,

“Oh, by the way, Sweden? I never said anything about wanting to take it slow. I believe that I owe you a lesson in bedroom Finnish.”


	20. Chapter 20

Even with the gray and stormy weather making the drive precarious, Sweden was almost positive that there was nothing that could bring him down from the clouds, nothing that could tear away his mood of disbelieving happiness as he followed the twinkling tail lights of Finland’s car as they made their way to his home and his waiting son. After Finland’s little...promise...in the car park, Sweden had taken a moment to close his eyes and breath deeply in the privacy of his front seat, regretting for an instant that he was not the sort of man to pull a Denmark and have his way with Finland right then and there. He could only assuage his spiking lust with the assurance that everything would be so much better in a bed, where he could take his time, make a proper study of Finnish, ensuring that he knew it intimately with his lips and tongue.

When he’d managed to set his desire to simmer instead of boil, he’d made a call to Sealand, who answered on the first ring, breathless with anticipation.

 _“Did he take you back? Oh my god, its only been like an hour! Is that a good thing? The movies didn’t cover adequate lengths of time for a proper getting back together scene!”_

Sweden had smiled at his reflection in the rear-view mirror as the car filled with Sealand’s anxious chatter, waiting until he’d run out of worried and hopeful blather before answering with quiet pleasure, “He took me back. We’re on our way home right now.”

 _“OH MY GOD!!! PAPA, I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU. AND FOR ME. AND FOR YOU!!!!”_ Sealand’s shrieks threatened to break the windows, but Sweden couldn’t care when his own heart seemed to be beating out the same overly enthusiastic message.

“Yes, me too,” Sweden had said softly, voice suffused with the warmth that had not left him since the brush of Finland’s lips across his forehead, “I...we’ll see you soon.”

And now here they both were, pulling into the driveway, and he could see Sealand’s less than subtle peeking through the living room curtains as he stepped from the car and ran to Finland with the umbrella to shelter him from the continuing downpour. Sweden almost swore that he heard a triumphant “whoop” from the inside of the house when Finland laced their hands together for the short walk to the door, pressing against Sweden’s side.

“I think we have an audience,” Finland murmured with amusement, eyes wide and happy as Sweden peered down at him while they walked together.

“Like I said...he’s been very concerned,” Sweden said with a fond shrug before confessing, “been feeding me all sorts of ideas and suggestions.”

“Oh? Such as?” Finland asked, smile only growing wider as Sweden squirmed and tried not to blush.

“....kissing in the rain,” He mumbled and cast his eyes towards the badly concealed mop of hair peeking over the window seal before Finland giggled and threw his arms around his neck, causing him to drop the umbrella in happy surprise.

“Well, it was a very good idea. One we should revisit,” Finland said with a playful wink before laying one on Sweden with gusto, much to the excited and appreciative cheering that could be heard though even the closed door.

Finland pulled away with a loud smack, laughing at Sweden’s stunned and flushed expression before grabbing his wrist and pulling him inside to drip all over his foyer.

Before he’d had time to adequately recover from his drive-by kissing, Sweden was shoved out of the way by Sealand’s body barreling down the hall and worming its way directly into Finland’s waiting hug as he shouted,

“FINLAND! It is so awesome to see you, though I knew you could never go without the company of the Mighty Sealand for long!”

“It’s wonderful to see you, too! Though you may want to let me go since your father’s romantic shenanigans have gotten me all wet,” Finland said cheerfully, shaking his head and sending water droplets flying.

Sealand snorted as he continued to cling to Finland, informing him haughtily, “That was totally my awesome idea by the way.”

Sweden rolled his eyes and dragged Sealand out of Finland’s damp embrace by the collar of his shirt, gesturing for Finland to make his way into the house as he said, “Go sit, I’ll bring you a towel and some dry clothes, long as you don’t mind them being a big on you.”

Finland’s lips twitched mischievously, voice light and flirty as he called out over his shoulder while drifting out of the hallway, “Oh, I don’t mind, it will be just like old times....”

Sweden watched the sway of his hips as he walked away, completely enraptured until he heard Sealand’s smug cough behind him.

Flustered, Sweden grumbled, “Go keep Finland company while I get us dry clothes.”

Sealand smirked at him and held out a fist as he whispered, “Seriously, Papa. Way to go! That kiss in the rain was ace.”

Unable to argue against such flawless logic, Sweden allowed himself a tiny smirk and indulged in knocking his fist to Sealand’s before nodding his head in Finland’s direction.

“Don’t worry, Papa, I’ll try not to charm him away from you just yet,” Sealand said brightly before fleeing the scene and leaving Sweden to sigh and shake his head as he made his way upstairs to find clothes with a chance of not swallowing his little love whole.

Several minutes later, a dry and redressed Sweden came back down the stairs balancing an armful of towels and clothes, passing into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, pausing as he heard the voices of his two favorite guys floating in through the slightly ajar door to the living room.

Quietly, he leaned his head against the jamb, watching as Sealand sat sprawled on the floor, smiling at Finland, who was perched gingerly on the armrest of the couch, clearly trying not to get Sweden’s furniture wet.

“Got any more awesome stories you want to tell me? Especially ones that Papa wouldn’t want me to hear?” Sealand asked as he rolled onto his stomach and propped his chin in his hands.

Finland rubbed a hand though his hair, laughing a little as he answered, “You know, I don’t think so.”

Sweden watched as Finland slid down to join Sealand on the floor, poking him in the side until his pout dissolved into giggles.

“Besides, haven’t you heard enough about us old men? I want to hear about the Mighty Sealand!” Finland said with such sincerity and sweetness that Sweden couldn’t blame Sealand for blushing and stumbling over his words as he asked:

“Really? You wanna know about me?”

“Of course! Now that you’re all up to speed on all the nitty-gritty details of our sordid family drama, I think its high time that we left the past behind and started following the lead of our youngest and most awesome recent addition. So I want to know it all--what the Mighty Sealand dreams about for his future, what you have in store for us all,” Finland said with a wide grin.

Sweden wanted to kiss Finland until they couldn’t breath when he saw the quiet happiness in Sealand’s smile; framing the sight of Sealand’s shy blush and Finland’s obvious affection in his memory.

“OK....” Sealand said softly, before blustering on through his awkward teenage feelings, “but only if you’re really sure you want to hear all that stuff.”

Finland tapped him on the nose, winking as he said, “I’m sure I’m sure.”

And Sweden couldn’t take it any more, too in love to last another moment without kissing Finland’s sweet smile, so he pushed the door open and called him into the kitchen, waving the towel and holding back just long enough for Finland to scamper over and close the door once more before cupping his chin in his hands and touching his lips to his cheeks, his forehead, the still dampness of his hair, the corners of his eyes, and finally the pleased curve of his mouth.

Finland laughed breathlessly, face crinkling with amusement, as his hands settled on Sweden's chest and he whispered, “What's gotten into you all of a sudden?”

“You make me so happy,” Sweden murmured lowly, kissing the shell of his ear, “And I needed to tell you that.”

“Right now?” Finland asked as he stroked Sweden's hair and pressed his lips to his cheek.

“Right now. Waited so long to say it before, just can't help myself,” Sweden said, wrapping his arms around Finland, leaning down to kiss him again until he felt the cold, wet stick of Finland's shirt and the chill of his skin.

Chagrined, Sweden stepped back, releasing Finland from his hold to offer the towel and point to the clothes, “Sorry about that, I'll let you get changed.”

Finland grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him in swiftly for a fleeting and heated kiss before shoving him out the door with a grin as he said, “I think we've both apologized enough for one day, thank you very much. Now get out of here. I'll bring the coffee back with me when I'm done.”

Sweden stumbled out into the living room only to come face to face with Sealand's knowing smirk and the rich smugness of his voice as he said, “Dippy look. Only now its like ten times worse.”

Sweden shot him a glare, grumbling, “Just you wait. One day you'll have a look all of your own for some poor person.”

“Don't be silly, Sweden!” Finland's voice called out from the kitchen, muffled as though he were taking off his shirt, which distracted Sweden until Finland continued, “Sealand's going to be very dangerous when he gets older. I'm envisioning quite the heart-breaker.”

Sealand smirked and stuck out his tongue at Sweden, mock-whispering, “Ha-ha, Finland loves me best.”

“What was that?” Finland said as he shuffled back through the door carrying two mugs of coffee and practically drowning in Sweden's t-shirt and ratty old jeans that hung precariously low on his hips.

Sweden's mouth went dry and his eyes glazed over, doubtless surpassing dippy look by several margins, as he watched Finland bend over and place the mug in front of him, smiling slyly as he asked, “Well, do I look alright?”

Sweden nodded slowly and patted a spot on the couch, pleased when Finland sat next to him tucking his feet under his legs and settling one proprietary hand on his knee.

“Oh my god, I have never seen so much dippiness in my life!” Sealand exclaimed gleefully, gesticulating wildly at both of them as he cackled.

Nonplussed, Finland just blew on his coffee and turned his hand over to accept Sweden's grasp, eying Sealand with a steely gaze when he casually asked, “Well, Sealand, why don't you tell us all about your plans for growing up and charming everyone around you? Is there a lucky boy or girl in your life right now?”

Sealand just smirked and stood up, unfazed by what Sweden imagined Finland thought would be a embarrassing question for a twelve-year old, having clearly underestimated the depths of Sealand's interest in rom-coms.

“I'd love to tell you all about it, Finland, but I've got places to be, people to see,” Sealand said breezily as he moved to put on his shoes.

Sweden sat up and caught him by the wrist, perplexed, “Where exactly are you going?”

Sealand had the good graces to look slightly sheepish as he answered, “Well, I asked Uncle Denmark if he could come pick me up to stay at his house tonight. I thought you two might want to be alone.”

Sweden blushed and nudged a giggling Finland, clearing his throat, “And when did you decide this?”

The sharp, insistent, knock at the door, so unmistakably Denmark, made Sealand rush to grab his things, calling out to his father, “As soon as you left to go meet Finland.”

“Even though you had no idea if it was going to work out?” Sweden asked incredulously as he started to stand from the couch, only to be waved back down by Sealand as he threw on his coat and opened the front door.

He smiled, bright and sunny and true, shrugging his shoulders as he said plainly, “What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic.”

Sweden just looked on in stunned silence as Sealand bid them both enthusiastic farewells and bounded off to Denmark's tender care, leaving him quite alone with a Finland who was rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of his wrist in the most tantalizing way.

“Who knew someone originally related to England could be so adorable?” Finland said, putting down his coffee cup and shifting nearer, “I think you must be a very good influence.”

“Me?” Sweden said with disbelief, thinking of all the many times he had failed absolutely at pulling off romance.

“Yes, you,” Finland answered lightly as he moved to settle firmly against Sweden's side, kissing his throat and his cheek while he spoke, “All of those letters you sent me. Sweet, incontrovertible, proof of your incurable romantic's heart.”

Sweden's eyes shut as he tipped his head back to make way for the exploration of Finland's lips sliding over his skin, murmuring, “It belongs to you.”

Finland kissed him long and slow, whetting his appetite and freeing all his yearning desire, before pulling back, eyes dark and warm as he said, “See? So very, very romantic.”

“Can't help it. Got a lot of things I've been wanting to say for a very long time,” Sweden explained as he pushed a hand up Finland's too-large shirt and splayed his palm against the warm expanse of his back.

Finland grabbed the wandering hand and stood from the couch, looking at Sweden with such open, undisguised desire that his cock began to harden in his pants when Finland smiled and said saucily, “There are a lot of things I've been needing to say to you as well.”

Sweden swallowed, reaching for him as he clambered up from his seat, looking down at Finland's wicked expression while he asked, “Such as?”

His whole body went taut and rigid with want, hands grasping greedily at Finland's waist when Finland answered in the low, unmistakable tones of his own language, Finnish rolling off his tongue and tripping through Sweden's mind, “Come to bed.”

Sweden nodded and let himself be pulled willingly up the stairs, heart racing and blood heating as he wondered when it was that Finland had become so commandingly sexy, so dangerous and delicious.

Finland settled him on the corner of his bed, standing between the vee of his knees as he ran his hands through Sweden's hair and asked, this time in Swedish again, “What would you like me to teach you? What do you want to know how to say to me in my own tongue?”

He punctuated his question by tilting Sweden's head back and kissing him deeply, running said tongue tauntingly over his lips before nipping at his jaw and releasing him.

Sweden panted and tore off Finland's shirt, wanting to put his hands all over his warm and soft body, marking his body with hot, open mouthed kisses while murmuring, “When did you get to be so damned hot?”

Finland laughed and kissed the crown of his bowed head, his answer playful, “Amazing what happens when you take someone down from their pedestal and unwrap them from cotton wool.”

Sweden couldn't help but fervently agree with this statement as he pushed the jeans from Finland's narrow waist to leave him standing only in his underwear, looking as gorgeous and wonderful as the first time Sweden ever touched his fingers to his skin.

“So, tell me, Sweden, what did you want to hear?” Finland asked before kissing him again, as if he could wrench the thoughts from Sweden's tumbling mind with the twist and curl of his tongue.

“Everything, anything, tell me all of it,” Sweden said hurriedly while Finland divested him of his own shirt and promptly ran his fingers over his nipples and chest until goosebumps littered his skin.

“Touch me,” Finland breathed out in Finnish as he tilted his head back and accepted the searching of Sweden's fingers as they traced the lines of his body from throat to sternum to the ridges of his hips and the bump of his knee and under the arch of his foot before stealing back up to brush over the curve of his cock.

“Good, very good,” Finland said, voice low and gravelly as he continued in his own language, “take them off.”

Sweden eagerly and swiftly pulled Finland's underwear down, pressing a hot kiss to the tip of his dick as he stepped out of his shorts, delighted by Finland's sharp, swearing that sounded infinitely filthier in his native tongue.

“Ah,” Finland gasped as he clutched at Sweden's shoulders, hips swaying tantalizingly in front of his face, “make me say your name.”

“With pleasure,” Sweden grunted in his own rough Finnish before settling his hands across Finlands waist and drawing him near to suck the head of his cock into his mouth, holding him back as Finland swore again and thrust forward. He ran his tongue down the length, flatting it along the underside as he hummed happily.

Finland's fingers were wrapped in his hair and he was murmuring broken little Finnish words, a constant stream of, “ _Yes, so good, god, more, so hot,_ ” that had Sweden wishing he could touch himself as well, cock so hard he was close to begging.

He shifted one hand from Finland's steadily rocking hips to move slowly around his back as he pulled Finland in closer, taking him deeper into his mouth as his fingers skated over the sweet curve of Finland's ass.

“Please, please,” Finland panted, eyes closed and cheeks flushed as Sweden teased between his legs, tiny fleeting touches that brushed fleetingly against every place that Finland so desperately wanted to be touched while he moved his mouth along Finland's cock with greater urgency.

“Ruotsi,” Finland sighed raggedly and it sounded as perfect and sexy and amazing as Sweden had always fantasized it would...the sound of his name on Finland's lips, pleading and wanting and needy.

Abruptly, Sweden moved his mouth and his hands to grasp Finland by the waist and pull him trembling and hot and desperate into his lap, feeling him shift mercilessly over his cock.

Finland's hands were scrambling at the buttons of his jeans, fumbling as he cursed and bit at Sweden's neck and ear, whispering over and over again, “I want you inside of me. Now, now, now.”

“God, yes,” Sweden bit out in response, the Finnish feeling strangely foreign and wonderful as it moved over his tongue. He pushed Finland down to the bed before standing to kick off the remainder of his clothes, shuddering as Finland reached up to stroke his cock, smiling at him wickedly as he beckoned him close.

Tossing his glasses to the side, Sweden growled and crawled across the bed, taking Finland by the hips and shifting him back to rest wanton and regal against the pillows, kissing him fervently as one hand sought out the lube.

“Keep talking,” He begged breathlessly as the kiss ended, only to rob Finland of the opportunity to respond when he took his lips again, rocking into the teasing touch of Finland's fingers skating along his cock.

“You feel so good,” Finland murmured dirtily, spreading his legs and arching up, “We're so good together.”

Sweden licked a long line up Finland's neck, sucking on the tender spot under his jaw as he slid one finger into Finland's body, tasting the sound of his pleasure as he moaned and pushed down impatiently.

“More, more,” Finland said hotly and Sweden complied, kissing him and swallowing his gasping sigh while he added two more fingers, turned on by Finland's eager, passionate response to his every touch, wanting to obey his every command.

And finally Finland laced their free hands together and whispered, “Fuck me”, with such hot, undisguised need that Sweden had to bite down on his shoulder to keep from coming. He pulled his hand away, stroking it up Finland's leg as he slowed his racing heart enough to press his cock in gently, leaning down to kiss away Finland's happy, satisfied moan as they came together.

He held Finland's arms over his head, unable to keep from kissing him until they were both breathless with pleasured laughter as he moved steadily inside, captured by Finland's bright eyes and lust stained cheeks. He moved one hand between their bodies, stroking Finland slowly as he continued to push in and out, wanting to feel this welcome warmth for the rest of his life.

“Ruotsi...Ruotsi,” Finland sighed with each snap of his hips and twist of his wrist, the sound spilling across Sweden's ears, burying itself deep within his soul.

“Suomi,” He murmured onto Finland's lips, feeling as though he might break from the pleasure and from the love that threatened to consume him as much as the heat coiling in his veins.

Finland's eyes flew open, wide and filled with lust and need and something Sweden had always hoped he would one day see, his voice warm and soft as he said, “Tell me.”

“I love you,” Sweden sighed out in Swedish, too far gone as he shuddered and pressed in so deep he didn't know where he started and Finland ended, feeling as though there was no possible way to top this moment of bliss.

Finland cried out and shook and spilled over his hands, shaking as Sweden kissed him through his climax, breaking away abruptly to take Sweden's face between his hands.

Finland took one great, heaving breath before he smiled sweetly and said even sweeter, “I love you. In Swedish, in Finnish, in every language. I love you.”

Sweden stilled, too astonished and overjoyed to move until Finland kissed the corner of his mouth and pulled him down to rest on his chest, the racing of his heart echoing in Sweden's ears. Sweden wound his arm under Finland's shoulders, wrapping him up under the heavy drape of his body, wanting to hold them both there forever in this moment of perfection.

“I want to stay just like this,” Sweden mumbled into Finland's chest, welcoming the touch of Finland's fingers running through his hair.

“Mmmm,” Finland hummed happily, “I know the feeling. But if we never moved, we'd never get to do this again, or do any one of the thousand things we've been waiting so long to do together.”

Sweden propped himself up enough to peer down at Finland's lovely face, as familiar to him as his own, and yet so different and wonderful in the pale evening light as he felt the entire future stretch out before him.

“A thousand things? Sounds like it might take awhile.” He asked softly, touching his finger to the sleepy fluttering of Finland's eyelashes.

“We've got all the time in the world.”

Sweden bent his head to kiss Finland once more, whispering with all the love of his past and all the hope of his future, “I can't wait.”


	21. Epilogue

_March, 2012_

Dear Sweden,

Do you know how cute you look when you sleep? I'm guessing not, since its very difficult to watch one's self in one's sleep, but let me tell you that you do, in fact, look adorable...you frown much less. I am awake in your kitchen, waiting for coffee as it is far too early to be considering the drive home (especially since I would much rather have you give me one of your special wake-up calls), but needs must.

I will leave this letter here for you (for God's sake, please get up earlier than Sealand) and I will come back to you tonight, when work is over and duty is done, and I can curl up in your warmth and be Finland and Finland alone.

I'm afraid that this letter will fall short of all those many pages you've shared with me, all the words you wrote and never sent during the years we spent apart, but I will do what I can to return the favor.

You said you wanted me to see me through your eyes. You paint me far too beautiful, so much so that sometimes I wonder what it is that has made me worthy of such praise, such devotion.

But I think now I understand, as I picture how you will try to ignore and deny what you find in this letter, that you will think I cannot possibly mean all the words I write.

I want you to see yourself through my eyes.

Though I have not always looked in your direction, though I have turned my gaze away in anger, hurt, and fear, I am looking now.

And I see a man who tries so hard and feels so deeply. Who is a wonderful father and good brother.

A man who is the lover I want to take to my bed every night because your heart is so vast I think I could spend years trying to learn the shape and sound of your love.

You touch me like I am precious and your touch is precious to me.

The past bound us together and the present set us free.

But here I am, exactly where I want to be, looking happily to the future and knowing that we will walk through the many years together, side by side and hand in hand.

I love you very much.

 _~Finland_


End file.
